


I've Lost My Heart To a Man with a Smoking Gun

by Lywinis



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Kingsman Spoilers, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, labeling this as complete because of The Golden Circle, more fic to follow, the timeline is all over the place but it starts to become coherent as you go along
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-03-25 13:29:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 27
Words: 37,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3812251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lywinis/pseuds/Lywinis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Bloodied knuckles and two steps from hell.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>(A collection of drabbles prompted on tumblr, of varying lengths, featuring Merlin and Galahad. Incredibly shippy, and completely self-indulgent.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tinker, Tailor, Wizard, Knight

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: _Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy_ Merlahad Crossover

“Why are you so worried about the Russians getting me?” Harry asked over toast. Merlin paused, his mug of tea halfway to his lips.

Merlin didn’t know when the dreams had started.

After the church, probably.

He hadn’t told him. The bloom of color right below Harry’s left eye, tracing down into a tiny teardrop of blood. He could still see it in his mind’s eye, the trickle making it to Harry’s lips before Harry fell, the leaves around him cushioning the thump of his body.

He took a cleansing breath. “Just your average handler worries, Harry. I’m worried about  _anyone_ getting you.”

He offered Harry a smile. He was relieved when Harry returned it, patting his hand before turning to the paper.

He didn’t have the heart to tell Harry he’d been the one to pull the trigger. Or of how he’d wept on the hill afterward. He often woke, the cold wetness of the dream carrying over as he swiped his eyes with a shaking hand.

Best not to worry him.


	2. Handler

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Prompt: Merlahad + Dogs

“You’re going to pick a puppy,” said Galahad.

The young recruit didn’t know why the youngest, least experienced Knight was training them, other than it would teach them all something. He reminded himself that Galahad had two years of experience on him. That was still more than him. He just needed to be patient.

He endeavored to learn, and forced himself to pay attention.

There was something to be said when Arthur stepped in to watch, standing next to the cages. His silent presence could be felt, rippling through the young men and women on the compound’s green.

Galahad continued.

“You’re going to care for it. Where you go, it goes. Where you sleep, it sleeps.”

The recruits all looked at the pups in cages, but only one noticed the discrepancy. He was going to bring it up, though he could feel Arthur’s sharp eyes on him.

“Sir,” he said, his tone polite. 

Arthur stepped in before Galahad could reply.

“Yes, you…Craig, was it?” He nodded at the mention of his last name. “What is it?”

“There are more dogs than there are recruits.” He worked hard to smooth his accent, making sure to enunciate.

“There are,” Arthur conceded, Galahad turning to look at him. “What of it?”

“Well, sir, I was wondering…what would happen to the puppies that weren’t chosen?”

There was a long bout of silence, and he could feel Arthur’s sharp eyes on him. He swallowed.

“I imagine we’ll drown the poor blighters.”

“You can’t!” Rage made him bleat the words, and he caught himself. He reined himself in. “Respectfully, sir.”

Arthur’s brow rose. “Then can you propose another solution?”

“I can,” he said, stubbornness making his jaw jut. “Let me take them.”

“Cor,” said another recruit, by the name of Davies. “You’re just gonna slow yourself down.”

“That’s what you think,” he said. He met Arthur’s gaze, and after a long moment, Arthur nodded.

Ethan Craig collected five leashes to the other recruits’ one, and happily jogged off leading the puppies.

* * *

“Unexpected,” Arthur said.

“Sir?” asked Harry. He was still watching Craig leave, a faint look of consternation on his face.

“Let me know how he does,” Arthur said. He didn’t elaborate.

Harry sighed. “I was rooting for him, too.”

* * *

Harry nosed into the warm neck in front of him, yawning. Weight on his legs made him crack an eye open.

“They’re on the bed again, aren’t they?” he sighed. Merlin merely gave a huff of laughter. It rumbled through his chest and made Harry twitch closer, to the heart of the sound.

“They’re old. We’re warm and it’s good for their joints.”

“But–”

“Don’t you ‘but’ me, Harry Hart, you used to let Mister Pickles eat off your bloody plate.”

Harry grinned at the sniff in his voice.

“But there was only one of Mister Pickles.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ethan Craig is my working name for Merlin's time before joining Kingsman. (I already have a lot of theories about his actual origin/place in Kingsman before the movie, so I'll be working off those. Eventually there'll be longer fic.)
> 
> Also, credit def goes to Scrivenbear for the dog idea. I just got to it first.


	3. Single Malt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Prompt: Harry and Merlin play a drinking game with the new recruits' honeypot mission.

“I hope that’s watered down,” Merlin said, looking at the bottle in Harry’s hands. “These three are…”

“About like you were,” Harry said, settling down into the chair beside Merlin at the console. He poured them both a finger of scotch, handing one glass to him. Merlin sniffed, then  took a sip.

He had to admit, it was quite good. Harry always did have a nose for the good stuff. The comment made him pause, the burn of the liquor making its way to his belly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He scowled at Harry.

“You were pretty artless,” Harry said, grinning. “I watched.”

Merlin scowled. “And I’m to assume you were perfect at it, just like everything else?”

“Of course,” said Harry, sipping his scotch.

“Prat,” Merlin muttered.

“Hm?”

“Nothing.”

“Ooh, there he goes,” Harry said, watching Charlie sit down and make his move.

“Negging,” Merlin said, taking another long sip, as were the rules. “Not exactly gentlemanly, but also not against the rules.”

Harry nodded, taking his own drink.

“Roxy called him on it,” Harry said, blinking. “Well. Also not against the rules.”

Merlin rumbled a chuckle. “Afraid for Eggsy’s chances?”

“Hardly.” Harry took a sip. “She’s about as heavy handed as you were.”

Merlin frowned, his brows meeting. “Why are you needling me today?”

“Not,” Harry said, taking another long sip. Merlin scowled again, but Harry didn’t look at him.

“Here comes Eggsy.”

“He can taste the sedative,” Merlin said. “Points to him, though he shouldn’t have drunk it in the first place.”

Merlin drained his glass as Eggsy slumped over onto Charlie’s shoulder.

“That’s it, then,” he said, standing. He set his glass to the side of his console. “About what we expected.”

“Mostly.” Harry swirled the last bit of amber liquid in his glass, before draining it off. He set aside the glass, and moved toward the door, passing by Merlin to do it. Their chests brushed in the small space, and Harry’s lips kicked up in a small smile.

“You never could tell when someone was flirting with you,” he said softly, his voice a rumble, and Merlin glanced up just as Harry brushed his lips against Merlin’s.

He froze, but Harry was gone as quick as the contact had happened. Merlin sighed, shaking his head. He was tingly, and memories of Barcelona surfaced without his permission. He waved them off.

They’d both decided that casual was for the best. No strings. Still, he glanced at the shut door of his office, frowning. He sighed.

“Prat.”


	4. Tell It to the Chaplain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt: Merlin watches the church footage.

He restarted it. The footage replayed, the sound muted while he focused on observing. He sat with his fingers steepled in front of his face, his glasses reflecting the footage before him.

_Round to the forehead. Round to the knee cap. Punch, kick, spin. Broken arm. Broken collarbone. Round to the forehead. Eject cartridge, round to the forehead. Round beneath the chin. Round to the forehead. Round to the chest. Neck snap. Pistol whip. Twist, snap, duck. Human shield._

Merlin watched, because it was all he could do. It came to the end, and he restarted it.

_Round to the forehead. Round to the knee cap. Punch, kick, spin. Broken arm. Broken collarbone. Round to the forehead. Eject cartridge–_

“You’re not going to torture yourself with it,” someone said. Merlin startled, his fingers slapping the keys and cutting off the playback. Harry leaned in the doorway, his face a blank.

“Harry,” Merlin began.

“If I’m not allowed to torture myself, you’re not allowed to play the martyr,” Harry said. His tone was light, and his hands were steady as he closed the file. He didn’t delete it – Kingsman saved everything and it was against protocol – but Merlin knew he was done for the evening.

“I was looking for more I could have done,” he said. 

Harry tutted. “You did everything you could do. We had no idea of the plot, and what happened in the church was–”

“My fault,” Merlin said. He put a hand on Harry’s wrist. Harry looked down at him, the faint air of consternation around the Knight almost palpable. “I should have been smarter, more prepared.”

“No one is prepared for everything, all the time.” Harry patted Merlin’s hand. Merlin could feel how the blood rushed under Harry’s skin. His pulse was like a bird’s, fluttering against his thumb. “You’ve saved my life several times over.”

“But all I have to do is fail once.” Harry smiled, turning his head so that Merlin couldn’t see his face for a moment.

“Merlin.”

“What?”

Harry brushed his lips against Merlin’s, soft and lingering. Merlin shuddered, warmth blooming where there had only been a cold knot in his chest.

“Thank you, for taking such care of me. I know I can be careless. Come have a cup of tea with me?”

It wasn’t a resolution. Merlin had no idea if they’d ever progress that far. But it was an admission, from both of them. They needed each other.

Merlin stood, stretching out his back.

“Yeah, all right.”

He joined his hand with Harry’s, letting the Knight lead him to the kitchenette. It wasn’t a resolution, but for now, it was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We see a _lot_ of Kingsman from Eggsy's eyes. (Which makes sense, as it's his story.) But that one portion of the Church Scene, you see Merlin look on in horror, then turn, wipe his eyes, and go right back to work. What doubt and blame must have gone through his head? It's interesting to think about.
> 
> I also headcanon that it's rare to lose so many Knights so fast, even with the dangerous work they do. Losing Lancelot, Galahad and then Arthur all within such a short span of time must've been crippling for a while, even with Roxy and Eggsy joining in.


	5. Firsts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Prompt: "Didn't you hear the boy? Posh boys love a bit of rough."

_**[Barcelona, 1983]** _

He blinked at Harry. The Knight was leaning against the wall, casually tapping out a cigarette from the silver case he kept in his breast pocket. Ethan swallowed as he watched Harry prop it between his lips.

Surprising them both, he stepped up and lit the cigarette for Galahad, cupping his hand around the match.

“Ta, Merlin,” he said.

“I’m not Merlin yet,” Ethan said. “Not for a long time, to hear them tell it.”

Harry blew a thin stream of bluish smoke above them.

“Then what should I call you?” he asked.

“I don’t…”

“Merlin,” Harry said, and Ethan swore the Knight was being contrary on purpose. “But you heard him. Posh boys love a bit of rough. He’ll likely be down by the docks.”

Ethan scowled. “Not all posh boys.”

Harry’s eyes glinted under the street light. “I do.”

Ethan felt his stomach knot when faced with Harry Hart on the prowl. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be on the end of that gaze. Then again, maybe he did, with the way Harry flicked his eyes across his face.

“It can be our cover,” Harry said, stepping closer. Even the hot stickiness of the Spanish night didn’t hide the way Harry’s body damn near glowed like a coal. Ethan swallowed. “Looking for a place to…”

They were close, Harry’s head tilted to meet his own. He braced himself, shivering as he watched Harry lean in.

“Come on then, Merlin,” Galahad said, suddenly all business. He turned on his heel and strode from the room, long legs flashing. “Let’s go collect our info.”

Merlin wiped his sweating palms on his trousers and hurried after the Knight. Galahad was going to be the death of him.

But, he thought, trailing behind him, what a way to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have the beginnings of young!Merlahad. I've been poking about them with Scrivenbear, and we'll likely end up doing dual runs of the origin story, if I can talk them into it. For now, though, snippets and headcanons are all I have.


	6. Seconds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Prompt: "Manners maketh man."

_**[Rhodes, 1986]** _

“I’m unhappy,” Harry said, folding his arms as he hung up the phone.

“ _That’s_ a new development,” Merlin said, stripping off his button down. It was cooler in just his a-shirt, and he stretched for a moment. “You’ve been raging since we left the estate.”

“Lancelot could have done it.”

“No, he couldn’t,” Merlin said patiently. “He doesn’t have the same build I do.”

“ _I_ could have done it.”

“You’re a better actor than I am. I need you to make the drop while we infiltrate.”

Harry hesitated, then sighed. “I just don’t like it. Human trafficking leaves a bad taste in the mouth.”

“Just another tool in the toolbox, Galahad,” Merlin said, shooting him a smile.

“You’re sure about this, Merlin?” Harry asked. Merlin rolled his shoulders.

“If I wasn’t, I’d have let Lancelot take my place,” he said. “And we all know he’s not the Sheikh’s type.”

Harry gave a small noise Merlin equated with a derisive snort. “He’d never shave his head. He’s also not going to live down that you were prettier than he was.”

Merlin shot him a smile. “Well, let’s do this.”

“Of course.” Harry held up the leather collar, and Merlin swallowed. He didn’t argue when Harry carefully placed it around his neck, checking the fit. He lingered there, long fingers dancing over both the leather and Merlin’s exposed skin.

Merlin shivered, and Harry stepped back.

“Apologies,” he said.

“Don’t worry.”

“I promise you, though, if something goes pearshaped,” Harry said, a thread of dark promise in his voice. “I will end this mission then and there.”

Merlin nodded, trying not to let the electric slide of Harry’s hands along his bare skin distract him. Now was not the time, though he wished it was. He took a deep breath and tried not to lean into Harry’s long frame. Barcelona had been a mistake, they’d agreed, and yet…

“I know I’m in good hands,” he said. “I trust you.”

He swallowed, and switched on the hidden mic in the collar. “Central, can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, Merlin. You are clear to proceed with information extraction.”

He pulled the earpiece from his ear. “Now or never, Galahad, let’s get this over with.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have now given you the visual of Mark Strong in a collar. You're welcome.
> 
> That said, I really want to get into the meat of this story eventually. Perhaps on cooldown after I've finished my novel and while I'm working on the next.


	7. Tea Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Prompt: Merlin + Tea + Harry

Merlin knew exactly how Harry took his tea on the second day of their acquaintance. He’d passed the young recruit and asked for a cup, with a spoon of sugar and a splash of milk. He’d remembered the please at the last moment, and the recruit, thinking he was being tested, jogged straight to the kitchenette and got to work.

The tea should steep for exactly four minutes, and it was around minute two that Merlin realized it wasn’t a test. He’d scowled at the door.

Galahad was a bit pompous, he thought, the posh schoolboy they all either loathed or envied a little in secret. Impeccable bespoke suits, with ties to match, pocket square where it should be and not a hair out of place. Merlin remembered the packs of them that would haunt Glasgow on holiday.

And really, what was two years of experience over Merlin’s own?

He’d tromped back with the mug, piping hot. When he set it down next to Galahad at the console, the Knight tilted his head up at him in acknowledgement.

And then, Harry Hart had smiled. “Ta, Mister Craig. You can head back to your duties now.”

Merlin was lost on the second day of their acquaintance, and he knew it.

——

Merlin sat next to the hospital bed, his hands clasped between his knees. A coma was better than dead, he told himself, over and over and over. Harry slept, his hair curling softly about his face, his eyes closed. The scar above his left temple was not done healing yet, and Merlin fair to glared at it, willing the process to speed itself.

Two months, the doctors had said. Harry hadn’t stirred.

Harry wasn’t covered in bandages anymore, just the one. The doctors said that shrapnel meant that Harry wouldn’t be able to see as well. Merlin decided that he would let Morgana decide if Harry was fit to return to duty.

He reached out, tentative, and slid his hand under Harry’s left. It lay on the bedspread, limp, and he curled his fingers over the long, elegant ones. Harry’s hands had been a distraction before, but now, something was the same and he thanked god for at least that.

He stroked his thumb over Harry’s left ring finger, and a series of regrets spun through his head. He closed his eyes to avoid them.

It meant he missed the first flutter of Harry’s lashes.

“Merlin.”

He startled. Harry looked at him, eyes bright and focused, his lips kicking up at the corners just a bit. It was a smile he’d worn so often that Merlin knew that he was truly amused.

“Could I have a cup of tea?”

“You absolute bastard,” Merlin said, and wiped at his eyes. “D’you know how worried everyone’s been?”  _How worried I’ve been._

“Sorry,” Harry said, rubbing his own cheek a little and coming back disgusted at the stubble. “You’re just the only one I know that can do it properly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry, you ass.


	8. Dear Agony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Prompt: Something Corpse Bride inspired.

It was quiet when Merlin finally broke away. He had duties while he stood in for Arthur, but those could wait for ten minutes.

He had something to do.

It was cold in the room below the estate, and he was glad he’d bundled himself up. He didn’t want to think about what he was doing, just that it needed to be done. He pushed open the swinging door and looked around.

Morgana wasn’t there, and the coroner was nowhere to be found.

He swallowed and walked along the row of polished stainless steel, his eyes searching for the nametag. He found it, and his fingers drummed on the metal for a moment before he opened the fridge and pulled the tray out. It was heavier than expected, and the tray squealed when he did it.

Merlin looked around, his heart hammering in his chest, but the morgue was silent.

_As the grave_ , he thought with a mental titter. He’d go insane if he thought about it, so instead he set about his task.

He was covered with a sheet, and Merlin didn’t move the covering from his face just yet. He didn’t think he was ready for that. Instead, he sought the chilled left hand. 

It took a few presses of his hands to make the flesh feel warmer, to make it more pliable, but Merlin was silent as he worked. His breath came in solid puffs around his head, visible in clouds of mist as he worked to keep his hands gentle. Finally, there was no more dawdling over it. He reached into his pocket, tracing the worn gold band with his fingertips before he slid it up and over the left ring finger.

“With this hand I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never be empty, for I will be your wine. With this candle, I will light your way into darkness. With this ring, I ask you to be mine.”

The ring slid into place, and Merlin sighed out a held breath, waiting for just a moment as he looked down at it. Nothing happened, not a twitch, and Merlin folded a little more into himself.

“I honestly didn’t know what I was hoping for,” he whispered, his voice thick. He pressed his lips to the cloth that covered Harry’s forehead, then slid the drawer carefully back into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sat here for like an hour trying to figure out how to make this one work. The prompt didn't really fit the pairing for me, so I did my best. Still, this one hurt to write almost as much as the TTSS crossover.


	9. Drumming Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Prompt: "Love your Kingsman prompt fills so far! I'd love to read something about Harry and Merlin discovering each other's most secret kinks. Something no one would ever expect from either of them. Doesn't have to be explicit...unless you want, of course!"

**_[Bombay (Mumbai), 1985]_ **

The discotheque was alive with sound and colored lights, and honestly, it was giving him a headache.

Harry disliked these assignments. Normally a honey trap proved minor in the scheme of things, but this one was…different. He almost felt the need to fidget, the collar at his throat open to expose a bit of his chest to the open air. He fussed with his blazer, smoothing it where it bunched around his waist.

Harry was dressed down this evening, playing the part of the wealthy noveau riche businessman. His target was an oil baron, one who had a predilection for men of class. It should be easy enough to pull off.

Except, somehow, tonight, it wasn’t.

He shifted, started to, then didn’t pull at his ear where the small communicator rested. He simply sat, in the bar, watching people. The baron hadn’t arrived yet, but would be here soon. He resolved to keep watch, sipping his scotch neat and making polite conversation where he found it.

“Galahad, you’re more reserved than normal,” Merlin said. His voice sent a shiver down Harry’s back, the brogue just soft enough that Harry had to strain to hear it over the noise of the crowd. “Everything all right?”

Harry gave an imperceptible nod. No one at the bar would see it, but the camera feed would flicker up and down and that’s what was important. For the first time in recent memory, Harry had no interest in seducing someone. It just wasn’t there.

“Your target’s not here,” Merlin said. “He might not be here for another hour at most. Feeling jumpy?”

“Bored,” Harry replied without moving his lips.

“Well, that can be remedied. You can pretend you’re enjoying yourself,” Merlin said. Harry stiffened. “I can see you in the mirror behind the bar, you prat. You’re not smiling at all.”

Merlin’s voice was tinged with exasperated fondness, and it put Harry a little at ease.

“Music’s not to my taste,” Harry said, getting a little defensive behind his glass. He was lucky no one could actually hear him besides Merlin.

“You look like Davies did when he was told he’d have to seduce a man. That’s never been a problem for you.”

Harry frowned. “It’s not a problem, per se.”

There was a click, and a chirp, and Harry knew Merlin had taken him to a private channel. There wasn’t usually a need for it, unless the Knight in question was dealing with seriously sensitive mission parameters. He turned his head, scanning the room again, and forced a polite half-smile onto his face.

“I’ve taken you to Central,” Merlin said. Harry took another sip.

Central was private, stuffed deep in the heart of the estate, and housed all the guts of the tech they used. Merlin had been converting it into his office since he’d been appointed head of the tech department last year. The private comm channel meant that they couldn’t be heard, but that his feed was still live.

Handlers were allowed to do this on rare occasions, but Merlin had never done with him. He tried to hold back the tiny thrill that shot down his spine. This shouldn’t be special, alone time with Merlin while he was half a world away.

“Now we have some privacy,” Merlin said. There was the sound of a lock being thrown. “What, exactly, has you in knots, Harry?”

“Don’t want to do this,” he murmured. He smiled at the bartender and got another scotch. He only pretended to sip at this one. He wanted his mind clear.

“Why’s that?” Merlin asked. Harry could see Merlin in his mind’s eye, the little wrinkle he got between his brows when Harry riled him to the point of consternation. “It’s never been a problem before.”

Harry faced the mirror on the back of the bar and shrugged.

“Is it just the heat?”

Harry gave a minute shake of his head, rolling the scotch in his glass.

“The target himself?”

Another shake.

“…Barcelona.”

Harry froze.

“I thought so.” There was the sound of Merlin settling into that leather chair he’d found and cleaned up. Harry admitted to himself more than was probably healthy that Merlin was excellent with his hands. He squeezed his eyes shut, looking pained. “We agreed we wouldn’t let it affect work.”

“I know,” he whispered.

“I’m going to have to resign as your handler if you can’t complete the mission as parameters stated,” Merlin said, his voice serious. “If you can’t do this, we don’t have a backup this time. This is the closest we’ve gotten to the weapon information he holds. He’s got the microfiche of the schematics on him and the drop happens tomorrow. We  _need_  that information.”

“I know.” Harry took a deep, cleansing breath. “I’ll be fine.”

“And I’ll be here every step of the way.”

Harry suddenly wasn’t fine.

“You think it doesn’t bother me, Harry? Watching you smile and flirt with these people? Doesn’t mean anything to you, does it?” Harry shifted. Merlin’s tone had changed, running into a deeper register. It sent a shiver down his spine. “Truth be told, it knots me up like no one’s business.”

Harry swallowed, shooting an incredulous look into the mirror.

“You think I’m not jealous as hell that those hands of yours are all over someone else?” Merlin fair to purred the words, and Harry’s leg twitched. What the hell was he doing?

Harry swallowed.

“You’re doing this because you have to. Doesn’t mean you can’t pretend it’s someone else while you do it.” Merlin’s voice was smooth, the rumble in his ear soothing. At the same time, it sent a prickle of heat down his spine. “He’s just entered the bar. On your left. Approach when you’ve secured your cover.”

Harry’s eyes snapped open, catching sight of the man in the mirror. He looked nothing like his handler, but his handler in his ear was the next best thing. He rose, long fingers splayed on the bar, and asked a young man to dance with him, hoping to catch the baron’s eye.

* * *

Merlin watched through Harry’s eyes as the Baron approached. It wasn’t something he normally did, but Galahad had needed the push. He told himself that, over and over.

It wasn’t that Harry’s reflection that he’d caught in the mirror had been conflicted. It wasn’t that he’d been the cause. It wasn’t.

He told himself that again.

They’d agreed that Barcelona had been a one-off, a one night thing where they’d come together in a sordid hotel room in Spain. Hot and sticky from the summer heat, lips and teeth meeting and then not a word about it. For two years, it had been a non-issue.

Or so he’d told himself.

Merlin scrubbed a hand over his face as Harry made nice, talking about all the pleasures that this new market of Bombay had to offer.

“There are many more pleasures to be had, if you wish,” the oil baron said. Harry’s viewpoint shifted, and Merlin could see thick fingers tracing down Harry’s bicep, stained dark with tobacco. Jealousy surged up, hot and heavy. He swallowed it back with tepid tea and kept silent.

“I think I’d like that,” Galahad said.

The feed was interrupted as Harry went dark. It would likely be quiet for some time. Merlin rubbed his face, stroking a hand over his shaven skull. This was getting to be a problem.

“Merlin.”

His name startled him. “I’m here.”

“I need you.” Merlin swallowed. The feed flickered back to life. Harry appeared, mussed and disheveled, his jacket discarded.

“What?”

“I need you to…to keep talking.” Harry’s brown eyes met the mirror, pleading. There was water rushing, and Merlin knew a distraction when he heard one. “Please.”

Merlin took stock. Harry was in a pleasant bathroom, spacious and luxurious. He was silent for a long moment.

“ _Merlin_.” Harry’s voice held a thread of desperation. “Please. Just this once.”

“Relax, Galahad,” Merlin said. “You’re in good hands.”

The relief was palpable in Harry’s face. Merlin ached to be able to stroke the mess of sandy hair back, but he was in a basement outside of London and Harry was four hours ahead. This would have to do.

“Have you located the microfiche?” he asked.

Harry nodded. “Safe outside. Two guards.”

“Sitting room, I suppose.” Another nod. “You don’t have to complete the honey trap. You’ve gotten inside.”

“Won’t get out again if I don’t, there’s a battalion between me and the ground floor.”

“Maybe not,” Merlin said. “Let me do some checking. Have you still got your watch?”

“Yes,” Harry said.

“This is what we’ll do…”

* * *

Harry relaxed in his hotel room, mopping the sweat off his neck. Bombay was ungodly hot, and he’d be happy to get back to London soon. Still, Merlin had been a godsend, and he breathed out, a towel around his neck. He started to strip his shirt, running the towel over his chest.

“You realize I’m still here, Galahad.”

“Mhm,” Harry said softly. “And you’re the reason I’m still here. Figure this is suitable thank you.”

“You’re…” He could almost see Merlin swallow, his throat bobbing. Were his eyes flicking up and down the lines of Harry’s torso, he wondered. “You’re lucky this is off the record. I took you off official feed as soon as you hit your hotel.”

“I could stop.”

“I could cut the feed, but neither of us are doing what we ought.”

His lips kicked up in a smile. “Will you be…handling me?”

“Soon as your plane lands, if you keep this up.”

“I take it I should leave the glasses on when I come to bed.”

“Prat.”

“Your prat,” he corrected, brushing his teeth. He relaxed, his whole body leaking tension. He’d escaped the hotel and was blessedly safe in his rooms at the waterfront. “It was good to have you in my ear.”

“Anytime, Galahad.”

“Merlin.”

“Hm?”

“We’ll have to do this again.”

“Why’s that?” Merlin’s voice was slow, almost a sensual rumble down Harry’s spine. Harry shivered, rubbing a little unconsciously at the bathroom counter where his hips were pressed.

“I like your voice.”

“Do you,  _stór_?” Harry whined, his toothbrush dangling from nerveless fingers. “I never would have expected Harry Hart to be one who took to orders like a duck to water.”

He panted, the arousal coming like a slap to the face. His hips rocked slowly, but it was nothing compared to the brogue in his ear. Brogue that seemed to get thicker when Merlin realized what Harry was doing.

“You’re incredible,” Merlin murmured, and Harry rinsed his toothbrush, setting it aside with a shaking hand. “Wound up just from the sound of my voice?”

Harry nodded, gripping the counter top.

“You’ll want to move to the bed,” Merlin purred. Harry whined again. Was Merlin…was he sounding a little wound up himself? “Or you can stay there, if you’re comfortable.”

Harry padded to the bedroom, drawing the blankets down after checking the locks for the umpteenth time. Merlin was silent, until he’d settled on the sheets, letting them slide across his body. He’d slipped into sleep pants before contacting Merlin, and for good reason.

He had been hoping to hear him say goodnight, but this was somehow much better.

“Merlin—“

“Harry.” Harry swallowed, propped up against the pillows, and looked down. “Look at you.”

“Mm.” He passed a hand across his stomach, the muscle jumping under his touch.

“Like a private peepshow,” Merlin said, his words making Harry melt into his own hand. “You’d be surprised how often this happens. Seeing you in flagrante delicto.”

Harry reached for his aching cock, his fingers tracing over the straining material of his pants.

“At least you know how to turn the cameras off,” Merlin murmured. “So that begs the question – were you meaning for me to see it?”

Harry groaned, thumbing the head through the flannel of his pants.

“Were you hoping, perhaps, for me to get a vicarious little thrill out of your escapades?” Merlin asked, his voice low and urgent. Harry took his cock in hand, stroking gently. “You have to know you’re not the only agent I’ve ever seen.”

Harry hissed, the protest bitten off. He didn’t want to argue, his leg jerking at the tone of the words, not what Merlin was saying. His hips rocked up, against his fingers.

“Certainly the prettiest, though,” Merlin said, his voice rough. Harry moaned. “I’ve always thought so. For half a second I thought you were joking in Barcelona. I wanted more, but didn’t think…”

Harry whined, slowing his stroke. “Wanted you.”

“Oh, I wanted you too,  _stór_ ,” Merlin said. “Knew I’d never be able to keep my hands off you once you’d made that jury rigged cooler. Look at those long, elegant fingers. Look best wrapped around your prick, you know.”

Harry jerked up against his fist, groaning.

“Better with me pressed into you, with your hands against the wall, remember?” he asked. “Watched your knuckles go white on the headboard and then you damn near lost your legs when I spread you open—“

Harry sobbed, pulsing against his fingers as he came in his pants. Warm, wet and sticky, he flopped back on the bed, still twitching. His breathing was harsh and ragged.

“Harry,” came the voice. Merlin’s voice was velvet in his ear, and he moaned, squirming as his poor abused cock twitched even then. “All right?”

“Yes,” Harry managed. “All right.”

“Good. You should have a shower. And perhaps a good night’s sleep.”

“Always looking out for me,” he said, and even exhausted, he couldn’t disguise the faint amusement in his voice.

“I said you were in good hands,” Merlin said. “I meant it. Your flight leaves tomorrow.”

“Mm,” Harry said, sprawled out on the bed.

“And Galahad?”

“Yes?”

“Your footage is the only footage I keep.”

Harry groaned, rubbing against the bed a moment. “You’re going to murder me.”

“You should get some sleep,” Merlin said. There was definite fondness in his voice.

“I will. You too.” Harry reached up to cut the feed. “Ta, Merlin.”

“Anytime.”

* * *

Merlin rubbed his face. He was in far too deep, but what could he do? He was Harry’s eyes and ears, for better or worse. He could do this too.

It would just take some practice to make it casual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that's not too far off point from the prompt. I keep wandering back to baby Knight and Wizard so I'm content with it.


	10. Bespoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Prompt: "Do you write smut? If so could you please write something involving Harry, Merlin and suit porn?"

Merlin pointed to the clothing laid out on the table. “Get dressed.”

“Ooh,” said Harry, closing and locking the door. “New bespoke?”

“Just get dressed, Galahad, I don’t have all day.”

“Yes, Your Nibs,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. He began to strip, starting with his tie. “Not even dinner first?”

“Busy.” Merlin swallowed a sip of tea that Harry was sure was cold by now, tapping out commands on the laptop. “I’ve got to issue these to every Knight in the district. Since you’re closest, you’re first.”

Harry was too much of a gentleman to pout. That’s what he told himself. He slid the tie from around his neck, then worked on his jacket, carefully hanging it up. He took his time, hoping that Merlin was at least enjoying the show. He undid his laces for his shoes, setting them aside before he worked on his braces.

“Is there anything new with this version?” he asked, hoping to draw Merlin into conversation.

“A few things.” Merlin sipped at his tea again, a pen behind his ear as he worked on the 3-D printer. “One moment.”

Harry continued to strip, folding and hanging his trousers before he did the same for his shirt. It was pleasantly warm in Central, and standing there in his socks, pants, and a-shirt wasn’t as hair raising as he thought it would be. He stepped into the trousers, tucking in his shirttail. Before he could do up the zip, Merlin was there, his arms around his waist.

Harry sucked in a breath.

“Have to show you how things work,” Merlin said, his voice smug.

“Is that so?” Harry asked.

“Mm,” Merlin said. He drew up the zipper with agonizing slowness, and Harry felt his pulse speed. “You know, of course, that the new bespoke is fully bulletproof on the back plate.”

Merlin’s clever fingers buttoned the trousers and reached for a new pair of braces laid out on the table.

“The braces have been upgraded to function as a climbing harness,” he said. His long fingers slid them up and over Harry’s shoulders. “They can withstand half a ton of tare weight and still hold their shape.”

Harry let out a soft noise as Merlin smoothed them, but he didn’t interrupt.

“Your new tie. It doubles as a concealed garrote, activated when you pull it off, hit the button, and tug it sharply twice. Bladed on one edge for a quick neutralization.” Merlin demonstrated. “It returns to its soft and malleable shape when you tug it sharply again. Button in the end, coded to Knight fingerprints. It also comes in a range of colors and patterns.”

Harry tilted his chin up as Merlin slid the tie around his neck, his throat working as Merlin’s nimble fingers did a perfect full Windsor knot.  

“The blazer is a wool blend. It’s waterproof, can withstand a knife thrust up to seventy-five joules of force.” Merlin helped him get it on, watching Harry’s hooded gaze track him around the room. “Your microphone is planted in the left lapel, as always, but there’s an emergency tracker under the right. It will activate when our biometrics indicate you’d suffered serious trauma.”

Harry swallowed.

“It’s bullet proof up to a forty-five caliber round. If someone is shooting a fifty caliber round at you, you have many more problems than the bespoke will be able to handle.”

Merlin returned, standing in front of him.

“Pocket square,” he said, holding up a neatly folded cloth in a muted blue to match the tie. “Functions as a gas mask, molds to your nose and mouth. Will hopefully prevent any airborne nerve gases.”

He tucked it into Harry’s breast pocket, and that was when Harry whimpered.

“Something wrong, Galahad?” Merlin asked, crooking a single brow. A twitch of a smile played at the corner of his mouth.

Harry lunged, crushing his mouth to Merlin’s. Merlin gave as good as he got, swallowing the reedy moan Harry gave.

“Christ, you talk about tech like some men talk about sex,” Harry growled.

Merlin leered at him.

“Same thing.” Harry bit his shoulder through his jumper, and he hissed. “Watch it, you.”

“No,” Harry said. He slid his hand down Merlin’s front, groping him through his trousers. Merlin gave a whine as Harry found his prick. “You earned this.”

“Jesus, Harry,” Merlin groaned, rocking against his palm. Harry sucked a mark into his neck, just above the collar. Merlin keened then, bent back over the table as Harry stroked him.

“You just got me dressed and now I want to tear you apart,” Harry whispered in his ear, his throat hoarse.

Merlin groaned, kissing Harry hard, nipping his lip. One hand snaked down and undid his trousers. Merlin had always been more nimble at it than Harry, and it was both a blessing and a curse. For now it was a blessing as Harry rocked into his fist, Merlin mimicking the movement.

“Christ,” Merlin’s head fell back, and Harry sucked at his throat. It was inelegant, hot and heavy, and it was excellent right then and there. Merlin came with a groan, Harry swallowing the sound with eager lips. He kept most of the mess from Merlin’s clothing, though now his hands were sticky.

He made a show of licking them clean, and Merlin gave a choked noise.

“You never get tired of that.”

“No,” Harry said, smug. Merlin slid off the table to kneel before Harry, and when the first puff of warm breath hit his skin he moaned, leaning back against the table. Merlin devoured him, his cock hitting the back of Merlin’s throat in a single go.

Harry’s words were lost in a rush, his hands digging into the table instead of Merlin’s shoulders, to keep it clean. It was an effort to keep from thrusting into the wet heat of Merlin’s mouth, but Merlin was determined that he wouldn’t have to. Harry came with a groan, his vision going white as his knees buckled.

Merlin pushed him back onto the table until he could get his breath back. He righted their clothing, cleaned Harry up, and tucked him back in, doing up his zip with care as he kissed him deep. Harry concentrated on breathing.

Merlin always was a multitasker.

“Dinner tonight?” Harry asked, straightening his tie after cleaning off his hands.

“Sounds good,” Merlin said. “Lamb?”

“I think so,” Harry said. Merlin returned to his chair, the leather creaking. “Ta, Merlin.”

“Of course,” Merlin said. Harry leaned over his chair and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head.

* * *

“Looking good, Harry,” Eggsy said as they passed in the hall.

Harry allowed himself the smallest of smiles. “Feeling good, Eggsy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *chinhands* Suit porn. Quite literally. I love this prompt.


	11. The Green-Eyed Monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Prompt: "harry needs to tell eggsy and roxy that merlin is hands off for them (very gentlemanlike of course)|

“—and then he pushed me up against the wall and planted one on me,” Eggsy said. Harry paused in the kitchenette, stirring sugar into his tea. It was a fractional thing, and most would miss it, but it was there. “Like, I swear, Roxy, I thought I was decent at kissing, but Merlin…”

“Was he really that good?” Roxy asked, her chin in her palm as she idly stirred her own tea. Eggsy punctuated it with a fervent nod. “He pulled away and I swear, you looked starstruck.”

“Hand to god, Rox, if he’d been at it a second longer—“ He waved a hand. “I forgot we was on mission. He was _that_ good.”

“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, Galahad,” Harry said, before he could stop himself.

He grated it out through clenched teeth, but straightened, turning, as though nothing was wrong. Only Percival, who’d popped in for a bottle of water, noticed his tone. The older Knight made note of Harry staring intently at Eggsy, as though to burn a hole in his forehead, and settled in to watch the show.

“Come on, Harry,” Eggsy said, waving his hand again. “If you put Merlin in the honey pot, you’d get the info you’d need in no time. He’s _that_ good.”

Harry’s eye twitched.

“Sounds like our new Galahad already has input on how we do missions, Arthur,” Percival said. He broke the seal on his water bottle and drank deep.

“No, no,” Harry said. “We need our wizard here. Central doesn’t feel the same without him.”

“Then at least let him teach me that thing with his tongue—“

The only noise was Percival sucking a breath through clenched teeth.

“That’s quite enough, Galahad,” Harry said. “Propriety, as always, is paramount. A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell. That will be all.”

Eggsy looked hurt, but he subsided. Harry walked from the room, his long legs flashing as he carried his tea back to his office.

* * *

“What’s his deal?” Eggsy asked.

Percival chuckled. “Arthur and Merlin are inseparable. What’s a king without his wizard?”

“What?”

“He means they’re shagging,” Roxy said, reaching out and tugging Eggsy’s cap over his eyes. “And that Harry meant for you to take the hint.”

Percival grimaced against his water bottle. “Quite.”

* * *

“I wish you wouldn’t do that so high up,” Merlin said, pressing a piece of ice to his neck. Harry had left a bite mark, higher up than his collar would cover.

“It needed to be done,” Harry said, nuzzling the other side of Merlin’s neck.

“I swear, you stalking around Central like a bloody great panther. If you start pissing on things to mark your territory, I’ll do a murder,” Merlin said.

“You won’t,” Harry said, trailing his hand up Merlin’s bare side.

“You’re jealous of a stripling.” Merlin gave an exasperated sigh.

“You broke a tea mug,” Harry pointed out. “I was on mission in Monaco, remember? The diplomat’s daughter?”

“ _Tart_ ,” Merlin muttered.

“Point.” Harry looked triumphant. It was a little less dignified when Merlin hit him in the face with a pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jealous!Harry is definitely a thing.
> 
> Quiet, also jealous Merlin? A thing too.


	12. Recuperation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt: "If you're not too busy, could you write Merlin stumbling upon Harry fresh out of the shower and wearing only the red robe?"

Merlin was assaulted with the scent of sandalwood and pine when he poked his head into the infirmary. Morgana said that Harry was feeling better, and Merlin wanted to see the improvement for himself. A hot shower was a good sign; shower meant healthy enough to stand upright. Merlin set down the little cactus he’d bought. It had a bright red bow wrapped around the clay pot, and he adjusted it next to the bed so that it sat just so.

“Cactus, eh?” said Harry. He blinked out the door at Merlin with a sleepy expression that belied how alert Harry could actually be. The half-lidded eyes were an artful lie; aristocratic boredom disguised a lot of things, and observation was one of them.

“It’s ‘cos you’re such a prick,” Merlin said, his lips twitching.

Harry made a sound somewhere between disgust and amused, and went back to lathering his shaving brush.

“Here, now,” Merlin said, padding to the bathroom. “You’re not actually thinking of using that, are you?”

“Have you seen my appearance, Merlin?” Harry said, disgruntled. He gestured at himself.

Merlin took in the bruises under his eyes, the petulant twist of Harry’s mouth. He also took in the sandy hair that fell in unruly curls around his face, without the pomade and hair oil to tame it. He got to see it curl wet at the nape of his neck, damp from the shower. He got to see the stubble that had grown in, and the tiredness of Harry’s eyes. He got to see the red cashmere dressing gown that covered Harry almost to the ankle but wouldn’t hide anything if he chose to pull it back straight out of the shower.

Every scar, every inch of Harry’s skin, he’d be able to see. He could look all he liked and never get his fill of Harry Hart. Not after the church.

He also got to see the bandage that covered his temple, the one graze that had done him some good. Lucky for them Harry was a convincing cadaver and Valentine was a shaky shot.

_Thank god. Thank god_ , Merlin thought, taking the shaving brush from Harry. _Thank god for small mercies and Harry Hart still breathing._

“Sit down,” Merlin said. “I’ll do it, if it must be done. We’re still working on hand-eye coordination from that coma.”

Harry sighed but complied, folding his robe around his middle and seating himself. Merlin shucked himself out of his jumper, loosening his tie and rolling up his sleeves. He glanced over at Harry, noting the same expression of watchfulness on his face. His robe was open at the throat, and Merlin could see the beginning of the soft hair that curled on Harry’s chest.

“What?” he asked. He gathered his supplies, settling them on the rolling hospital table.

“I didn’t realize you could use a straight razor,” Harry said, leaning back in his chair, every inch the indolent lordling on the surface.

“I have lots of facets,” Merlin said, shrugging. He peeled open his shirt at the collar, loosening a couple of buttons. “My uncle was a barber.”

“I see,” Harry said, tilting his head back when Merlin pressed, his fingers brushing over the hair that mapped the Knight’s jaw. “I keep forgetting you weren’t always a Kingsman.”

Merlin snorted, tilting Harry’s head this way and that. Harry allowed it, perhaps because Merlin was gentle, but also perhaps because he enjoyed it. “I grew up fighting for every inch I got. So sometimes I would work in the barber’s for pocket money. You should know this, you read my entire dossier before Barcelona.”

“You just…” Harry paused. “I keep forgetting you’re not…”

Then, it hit Merlin. Harry kept forgetting that Merlin wasn’t one of them. Not a Kingsman, but posh, rich in the way that only the oldest bloodlines could be. He frowned, looking down at long fingers that twitched when he went silent.

He reminded himself that Harry was a gentleman, but he was not a gentle man. He could be cruel, with his words as well as his fists. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that Harry also hadn’t meant it as an insult.

_Remove that chip from your shoulder._ It was good advice from his younger self to Eggsy, and he took it now.

“Well, it’s good to be underestimated.” Merlin swallowed and lathered the brush with shaving soap. “It means I’m more likely to succeed.”

Harry relaxed. Merlin realized he had registered the insult. It was heartening – if only a little – to see that Harry had softened his edge toward him. He soaped Harry’s face, getting the curvature of his jaw covered, the musky scent of the soap making him remember running his nose along Harry’s jawline.

“Merlin, I—“

“Hush and let me work,” Merlin said. He flicked open the folding razor one-handed, stropped it a couple of times with the leather band tucked taut beneath his foot, and then set to work. He carved close valleys out of the stubble, smoothing Harry’s face with long, deliberate strokes of the razor.

Harry was silent, his eyes closed as Merlin worked.

“Oh, I see someone beat me to the well-wishing,” came a voice. Merlin turned and saw Percival, leaning on the door jamb. “Am I interrupting?”

“Just helping him shave,” Merlin said. “Loss of motor control, and all.”

Percival’s brow jumped, and for Percy that meant a hell of a lot of surprise or even amusement.

“I really must speak to my barber,” he said, his voice light. “My level of service appears to be lacking.”

Merlin had turned back to his task, so he almost missed the vee that Harry shot Percival. As it was, he caught a glimpse of Harry’s index and middle finger going up. He could fairly _hear_ the younger knight breaking out into a grin.

“Jog on, Percy,” Harry grumped.

“As you like,” he said, tipping Harry a jaunty salute and putting down the peace lily he’d brought. “Just thought I’d wish you a fast recovery. Though I see why you might dawdle.”

“Jog _on_ , Percy.”

Percival was whistling when he shut the door.

“Wanker,” Harry muttered.

“Now, now,” Merlin said. “Manners maketh man.”

Harry looked petulant, but the frown smoothed out when Merlin wiped his face with a hot washcloth, clearing the last of the soap from his face. He leaned into Merlin’s touch, and Merlin was reminded of a large cat – not the first time he’d made that analogy with Harry.

“Feel a bit more human?” Merlin asked, setting aside the cloth and beginning to clean up.

“Yes,” Harry said, running long, elegant fingers across his face. “Quite human. Ta, Merlin.”

“You’re very welcome,” Merlin said, reaching out and running one fingertip over the now-smooth jaw. Harry captured his hand, pressing his lips to Merlin’s palm.

“Stay?” he asked. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”

Merlin let his hand linger, tracing down Harry’s neck, feeling the pulse beat there. He pushed down, spreading his hand beneath the red cashmere and feeling Harry’s heart beating strong in his chest.

“For a while,” he said.

He allowed himself – just this once – to linger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know everyone expected porn. But mwahahaha have feels instead.
> 
> *twirls mustache*


	13. Poetry in Motion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Prompt: Poetry in Motion... (if I close my eyes I see Mark Strong fencing in Stardust or the infamous roundhouse kick in Kick Ass - but every other take on this is equally welcome :-) )

Eggsy had to admit, Merlin was light on his feet.

There were many things the Kingsman organization did to keep their Knights and various other agents in shape, and Eggsy watched as Merlin put the fencing foil through its paces. The tech wizard worked without a shirt, sweat rolling down his chest and shoulders as he went through the steps.

A dummy was set up to allow him to focus, and Eggsy’s chin was in his palm as he watched. The first attack scored a hit, the light on the dummy blinking on. Merlin stepped back, bringing the sword up parallel with his nose before exploding into another attack. He whipped the foil about, in through an imaginary guard so that the tip struck the torso again.

Roxy settled down next to Eggsy, handing him a bottle of water.

“He’s good,” she murmured.

“He is,” Eggsy agreed.

Merlin stepped back, then lunged, striking another hit. A buzzer sounded, and he stepped back, saluting the dummy again.

“Are you two going to stand and watch or are you going to suit up?” he asked. Merlin blotted his face with a towel, resting the foil against his hip.

“Fine here, thanks,” Eggsy chirped, grinning.

“Same,” Roxy said, holding up a spare bottle of water. She tossed it to Merlin and he caught it, cracking the seal and draining it in several long swallows.

“Used to be, I could get a decent sparring partner around here.” He capped the bottle and lobbed it into the recycle bin. “Suppose you two are pretty green…”

“They’re afraid you’ll break a hip,” said Harry, leaning up against the bleachers. Eggsy’s grin widened.

“Oh, was that you accepting my offer?” Merlin asked, tilting his head at Harry.

“Might’ve been,” Harry said, his shrug eloquent. “I’ll need to change.”

“So will I,” Merlin said. They shared a long look and then strolled to the changing rooms at the opposite ends of the gym.

“Why do I feel like mum and dad are about to fight?” Roxy murmured to Eggsy.

“’Cos they are,” Eggsy replied, watching the mats.

Merlin and Harry returned a few minutes later, clad in full sparring regalia. The quilted jackets were padded, but only served to fill out their forms rather than make them look bulky. Merlin was broader in the shoulder, but Harry had longer limbs. They seemed equally matched, for two men on the mat.

Both forwent the masks, agreeing upon no face shots. Eggsy could feel the tension ratchet up in the air, even as Roxy sat forward to watch.

Merlin’s foil was steady, held in a firm grip. Harry’s, on the other hand, was held loosely at his side. It was an indolent pose, and it reminded Eggsy somewhat of the pub. That fight had been brutal because Harry’s opponents had been brutal.

What would it be like now?

“Three minutes, first to five?” Merlin asked.

“Fair,” Harry said, remaining still. He was standing so that his right side faced Merlin, his foil pointed down. Merlin settled into a similar sideways stance, his arm out for balance behind him.

Merlin exploded into motion, lunging. Harry moved to parry him and Eggsy saw what made him so frightening. Harry was the viper to Merlin’s mongoose, quick and deadly. They danced back and forth across the mat, parrying and thrusting.

“He doesn’t even look to be breathing hard,” Roxy murmured.

“He will be,” Eggsy said. “Merlin’s got him backed up.”

“No, he doesn’t,” she said. “Look.”

Harry stamped his boot twice and launched into a blistering offensive, driving Merlin back across the mat. Their foils hissed along each other’s edges, and Eggsy swore at least once he saw sparks. Their faces were locked in concentration, and they drove each other back and forth across the mat.

It was a display he didn’t think he’d ever see, even at the Olympics (when his mum had been fixed on the telly and there was no changing the channel).

He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until Roxy called time. Eggsy let it out in a great whoosh, and both men came to a stop.

“Neither of you scored a hit,” he said. “Not very good fencers, are you?”

“Would you like a go?” Harry asked, taking the proffered water bottle and draining half of it.

“Nope, better things to do than swishy-poke,” Eggsy said, grinning.

“Like lifting weights and seducing princesses,” Harry said, his tone dry. “Eventually I’ll teach you how it’s done.”

“I think you did already,” Merlin said. He wiped at his face again, leaning an arm on Harry’s shoulder. Harry leaned into him, and Roxy hid a smile. They’d been closer than ever since V-Day, and it was heartening to see.

“Well, I know who to come to if you’d ever bring the sword cane back,” Roxy said, chin in palm.

“Wait, they had _sword canes_?” Eggsy’s eyes rounded.

“Much more efficient to use the umbrellas,” Harry said.

“But _sword canes,_ Harry.”

“No, Eggsy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't not have Merlin fencing, if only because the prompter reminded me that Mark Strong was in Stardust (where he gets beaten up by a bby Daredevil). So, yes, have some Harry and Merlin fencing.


	14. Sentiment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Prompt: Hostage Situation
> 
> [A/N: Warning here for graphic depictions of violence and torture, as well as gore. If that triggers you, you should skip this one.]

Merlin can’t remember when he was last uninjured. It’s a testament to his captors – to the Kingsman – that they can keep him alive this long. Arthur seats himself across the polished table from Merlin, his cloudy blue eyes roving over the hurts that cover his magician’s torso.

He doesn’t seem to care, and that’s what chills the sweat that clings to Merlin’s skin along with his shirt. Blood has made his back tacky, and he can feel the lash marks still weeping. Merlin strains against the ropes binding him to the chair, but the chair is old – it has survived two wars and Merlin’s sure it will survive this one, unlike its occupant.

"You are a _poison_ in this organization. I see it now," Arthur said, his voice quiet.

His long fingers spread out on the table, and Merlin can see the signet ring wink in the light. It’s dizzying, kaleidoscopic in the lamps and the firelight. He can barely keep his vision straight at times. It’s bright, but clean. So clean.

Arthur would never deign to get his hands dirty, not like this.

"I thought that if I kept you busy with recruits and with technical matters, it would distract you from this...sentiment."

Merlin is bleeding. He can't tell how much, or from where anymore. His whole body is a roadmap of pain. He will scar, if he makes it out. He doesn’t think he’ll make it out, not if he gives up what Arthur wants. Gazelle has him by the back of the neck, forcing him to watch Arthur regard his personal tea mug. Petulantly, Merlin is glad he has no hair she can grab.

At least he keeps that dignity.

The mug’s a souvenir, one of Harry's. He'd brought it in from Spain, when he'd had the chance to go there again. _Bon Dia from Barcelona!_ in a garish font. Something Merlin could keep with him when he had to send Harry out and into danger.

Something Merlin could keep of _Harry_ and that was something that would rankle Arthur. It does, he can tell. Arthur regards the tea mug with a curl of his lip, looking like he’s put his fingers in something he shouldn’t have.

Sentiment. Perhaps it was a weakness, Merlin thinks, blood dripping into his mouth as his eyes follow Arthur. His breathing comes in a reedy gasp – he’s had broken ribs before, can hear the wheeze of the air as it leaves his lungs.

Gazelle keeps his head steady. Her prosthetics leave bloody track marks on the rug – and he knows that Arthur finds the mess distasteful, that was a _Persian_. He must really want what he’s after. They don’t even bother to take him to the infirmary. Those rooms have concrete floors they can hose.

"This?" Arthur says, holding up the mug with an expression on his face reserved of late for only the Unwin boy. "You're a _taint_ , my boy. I should never have let you through my doors. I had thought to...mold you into something better. I see now that you can take the commoner from the streets, but you can't take the streets from the commoner."

He says the word _commoner_ the same way that most people would spit the word _shit_. He knows that’s what Arthur’s always seen him as – what he’s always seen Eggsy as – filth. He can hear it in the roll of syllables that are posh and cultured, the long nose to look down and the weak chin to slur the word.

Rage subsumes his vision, and Merlin can barely think straight, let alone speak. Arthur in his ivory tower, his castle on the hill. Looking on while Merlin strove to build Camelot beneath him.

Arthur only called him _my boy_ when he wanted something.

Merlin always responded because he considered Kingsman _family_.

The mug shattered on the table, chips of porcelain striking Merlin's cheek, drawing bright lines of blood down his jaw.

"The encrypted channel, if you please, Merlin."

“Thank you,” Merlin says, making his brogue extra thick – sounding like that boy from the Glasgow gutter so long ago – to confirm his own dignity. He spits blood onto the polished walnut of the table, and it’s thick and viscous, mixed with phlegm and spite. It’s not enough to strike Arthur or his clean hands, but Merlin feels that the thought is what counts. “But I would really rather not.”

Gazelle gives a delighted, throaty laugh. Her fingers are bright with his blood, she’s been fair to _painting_ with it, macabre Picasso that she is – and raises a straight razor.

“Stop,” Arthur says. Gazelle looks to him, her arm hesitating. Merlin rolls his eyes to Arthur. “You always were stubborn. I remember the train test. You wouldn’t give up anyone – even me. It seemed so easy for you, but then…you were the only one tied to the train tracks, weren’t you?”

Arthur snaps his fingers. Kay steps closer, leaning down.

“Tell Lancelot I’d like to have a word. In through the south door, if you please.”

For the first time in this interrogation, Merlin feels _fear_.

The wait is interminable; it’s also quiet.

Merlin can’t hear anything over the rush of blood in his ears and the crackle of logs in the fire. His first thought is what he’s going to do. Gazelle is a predator – and she likes to play with her food. He’s been hobbled to the chair, though his hamstrings haven’t been cut, she’s stomped hard on the tops of his feet. He’s sure one foot is broken, at the least.

She was going to start on his kneecaps soon.

His next thought is that Percival is in Bruges, he’s in fucking Belgium and he’s both blessedly far away and safe but also nowhere near able to help. He mourns that Percival will lose two Lancelots in his lifetime, loved in different ways but _loved_ and that doubles his resolve.

Gazelle covers his mouth with her palm when Kay gives the signal to Arthur. She’s coming in the south door, his back is to her, but perhaps—

The knock comes.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” she asks, not noticing Merlin or Gazelle at first. Merlin bides his time, waiting on Kay to prepare to move.

“Come here, child,” Arthur says, flicking his fingers at her. Roxy gets three steps inside the door before she catches sight of Merlin, smells the coppery tang of blood in the air. Kay brings his pistol to bear.

Time slows down. Merlin opens his mouth, bites down hard on Gazelle’s fingers, hears the crunch of cartilage. Blood fills his mouth but she recoils, her hand against her chest. He twists in his chair as Kay brings up his pistol.

“Roxy, _run_!”

Roxy, bless her, does as ordered. Kay blows two holes into the wall, splintering the walnut paneling. Merlin’s ears ring from the sound, the impact, and can’t do anything as Kay and Bedivere give chase.

She can handle them. She’s fast, agile, and cleverer than Arthur gives her credit for – he seems to underestimate the young almost as much as he underestimates Merlin himself. Gazelle backhands him, but it doesn’t sting as much because she’s a righty and that one’s bloody and mangled now. He spits her own blood into her face, and grins wildly.

Arthur has remained silent through this, watching with steepled fingers. After a long, interminable moment, he rises to his feet, and Merlin turns his fierce grin on him.

“Thirty years,” Arthur says, his voice shaking. He leans onto the table, his fingers splayed out. “I have tolerated you in my house for thirty years. I have fed you, clothed you, and paid you to do a task. For the most part, you have behaved admirably. I have tolerated your peccadilloes toward the late Galahad, until you both became expedient and therefore useable. Now, _my boy_. I am going to scrub you from my house, once and for all.”

He unbuttons his jacket, withdrawing a pearl handled pistol, set with a Kingsman crest. It’s the crest Merlin can’t take his eyes off of – he’s held that crest to his highest standards, his whole…

The crest is going to kill him and his mentor will be the one to pull the trigger.

Merlin straightens his spine, sitting back in the chair and leveling his best glare at Arthur.

“The encrypted feed, if you please, Merlin.”

“Get it from the Lady in the Lake, you old bastard,” Merlin growls.

Two things happen.

Merlin prepares for the shot – he can see Arthur’s finger closing on the trigger, can see him taking aim. The door explodes inward and Eggsy appears, clad in his tracksuit and squeezing off three shots. Gazelle ducks the first, but the other two catch Arthur. One in the chest and then a bloom of red appears in his left eye, gore spattering the wall behind him and sending blood hissing into the fireplace.

Bors’s head whips ‘round, but it’s far too late. Eggsy catches him in the neck, and the Knight gurgles before he slumps to the floor.

Gazelle gets a running start, crashing through the window and onto the manicured lawn below. From the sound of squealing tires, there was a car waiting for her to finish her tasks and then take her back to Valentine.  Merlin sags in his seat, breathing hard.

“Merlin,” Eggsy says, his breath coming in a rush as he pulls Merlin’s chair back. “Merlin, Christ, look at you – they worked you over, dinnit?”

Merlin tries not to scream as Eggsy jostles him, but it’s a close thing as all the adrenaline ebbs away. Eggsy moves to cut his bonds.

“No—Roxy,” Merlin croaks. “Find Roxy. Kay and Bedivere, chasing.”

“Shut up,” Eggsy says. Merlin almost misses the whispered “Not you, too.”

“Do as he says, Eggsy,” comes a voice. Merlin lifts his head. It’s Percival, his face spattered in gore. “Go find Roxy, then go get Morgana. I’ll see to stabilizing him.”

“Show me your neck,” Eggsy says, growling the words.

Percival sighs, shoots him a fond look, and then tilts his head. Eggsy examines both sides. Satisfied, he bolts, running hell for leather.

“Percy,” Merlin sighs.

“Like his mentor,” Percival says, kneeling before Merlin and cutting the bonds that hold him. Merlin nearly slumps over, but Percival catches him. “All right, Merlin?”

“Thought you were in Bruges?” he croaks.

“Was,” Percival says, cheerful. “But I had a bad feeling, what with all this talk of exit strategies. So I cut my mission short. Good thing, too.”

“Whose…” Merlin makes a short nod at Percival’s face.

“Geraint,” Percival says, pulling his handkerchief and wiping at the blood on his face. “Bloody shame, he was the youngest of all of us.”

Merlin grunts. “Tried to save her for you.”

“You idiot,” Percival chides him.

“Didn’t want you to lose…Lancelot again.”

The Knight’s face softens. He smooths a wet cloth across Merlin’s face and cleans him up a little. It hurts, but it’s welcome, because Merlin’s _alive_. “Ta, Merlin.”

Pain twists his guts at the words. “Now you sound like—”

“Move back, Percival.” Merlin recognizes Morgana.

“Hullo, Mags,” Merlin mumbles, and she gives him a stern look.

“I’d thought you’d gotten clear,” she says.

“I didn’t…they wanted Harry’s feed.” Merlin sighs. “Didn’t give it to them.”

He casts his eyes to Arthur lying still on the rug. Roxy gives a low noise and he knows she’s nauseous.

“Roxy,” he says, moving to stand. Morgana hisses an invective at him, and he stills. “Prep the jet.”

“I—” She hesitates.

“Lancelot,” Merlin says. She straightens at her title, shoulders back and head high. “Please. We haven’t a lot of time. Gazelle took off after Valentine and who knows how long we have until V-Day. I need you to prep the jet. We can deal with fallout later.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What happens now?” Eggsy asks, hovering.

“We go after them,” he says. “Gazelle knows Arthur is dead, but perhaps I can still fool the security at the gate with his invitation.”

Eggsy swallows. “I should go help Lancelot.”

Merlin nods, and the young man sprints off. Morgana makes a face at him, and he opens his mouth.

“Don’t you start with me, Merlin,” she says. “I’ve watched too many of my boys die over the years. You and Galahad were the worst, attempting to one up each other in damaging yourselves. You were both fools about it.”

“I know, Mags,” Merlin says. “I need you to patch me up enough so I can stand.”

“Merlin,” she says, her voice heavy. “If I do this – you’re not likely to come back from this.”

“I know,” he says. Percival roves his eyes over Merlin, then gives him a slow nod. He pours him a glass of water, then a glass of brandy. Merlin throws back both, wincing at the burn. “I need this.”

“I know you do,” she says. She cups his face in her hands, and Merlin remembers how it felt when she’d done it the first time. The callouses remain the same, and the love is tenfold. She rests her forehead against his, and he can hear it in her voice.

“Mags,” he whispers. “Do this for me, and I promise, you’ll get a break.”

“Unlikely,” she says, but leans back and begins to wrap his wounds. “You’ll need stitches, and a cast for the foot.”

“I know,” he says. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” she says, scrubbing at her eyes. “Just come home.”

“I will,” he promises. He is silent while Morgana works. Percival gives him another shot of brandy, and it burns. It numbs the pain of the splint going on his battered left foot, however, and Merlin is grateful.

“What do you need me to do?” Percival asks.

“I need you to assemble the Kingsman,” Merlin says. “Find out who and who are not in Arthur’s pocket. Move them into position, and we’ll attempt to clean up. We might not be enough, but with reinforcements…”

“I’ll see to it,” Percival promises.

“How did you know?” Merlin asks.

“Lancelot—James,” Percival says. His face twists a little, grief bubbling to the surface as Morgana works. “He said to me ‘Martin, if I were to leave Kingsman, would you come with?’ I thought it was his flighty nature, you know – he always talked about vacationing in Bora-Bora for a year. We never did…”

Merlin nods. “Then he knew.”

“He knew that Harry knew something,” Percival says. “That was enough for him. Enough for me, too. But Arthur – he called him in three days later, sent him to that chalet…”

Morgana finishes splinting his leg, and Merlin breathes out. She hands him a bottle of pills and several IV drips. They’re still sealed, but Merlin can see that they’re saline, the smaller ones a cocktail of painkillers. A way out, if he’s bleeding out.

He swallows, and looks at her. Morgana meets his eye. She was always honest.

“If the pain gets to be too much, take the pills. Do not fly the plane while you take these pills. You will allow Eggsy or Lancelot to fly if you are taking these.” She gives him the hairy eyeball, and Merlin nods. He pockets both.

Percival helps him to stand. He wobbles, but it’s enough. It will have to be.

“Chocks up, Merlin. Back into the field you go.” Percival gives him a hopeful smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Right,” Merlin says. He wishes, not for the first time that day, that Harry was here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @Kingsman fandom: #GETWREKT
> 
> Sorry. Ahem. 
> 
> The sequel to this is up. Please check out [Fallout.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3830767/chapters/8865841)
> 
> There's more to this, but you'll see it in Scrivenbear's half of the tale — which means you should probably be following [Home Is Wherever I'm With You](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3830767), as the next part of this will be out later. You should be following her anyway, her Merlahad stuff is tops.
> 
> That said, I've been in a mood all day. This is the culmination for that.


	15. Stone Soup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Prompt: Chicken Soup for the Soul

Harry Hart was a terrible patient.

Merlin knew this from experience. As a man of action, Harry would rather be up and about. When he poked his head into the dormitory and found Harry on his feet instead of in bed, Merlin was hardly surprised.

“Back to bed.”

“Why?” Harry asked. It came out rather nasally, and Merlin tried not to smirk. “I’b _find_ , Berlin.”

He blew his nose, and Merlin watched him sway on his feet. He clucked his tongue at the Knight.

“Your sinuses are dripping like a faucet, you’re barely coherent, and you’re definitely not fit for duty.”

Harry looked miserable, and Merlin set down his peacemaking gift before he put both hands on Harry’s chest and steered him back to bed. Harry went without much fuss, but Merlin wasn’t able to get away because Harry tugged him down to the skinny mattress with him.

“No you don’t,” he said. “I’ve got work to do today, Harry.”

“But Merlin…”

“Nope, no you don’t.” Merlin smiled. “I will be taking you home. And tucking you into bed.”

“Home where?”

Merlin debated. “My flat?”

“Is that wise?” Harry snuffled, tissue in hand.

“At this rate I’d rather know you were resting and I’ll be able to come home to check on you,” Merlin said. “Look, I know it’s a bother. Let me take you to my flat. I’ll get you some soup, and then you can sleep with the medicine Morgana got you.”

“ _Buuuuuuuh_ ,” Harry said. His posh demeanor had dropped in favor of trying to get as much coddling from Merlin as possible.

Merlin hated to admit it, but it was working.

“Come on, then,” he said.

Harry nodded and shuffled into his coat. Merlin packed his dressing gown just in case.

* * *

Harry was flushed and warm by the time they got to Merlin’s modest flat. The dogs all crowded them, rambling along under their feet. They seemed to be able to tell that Harry was the one who was sick, and they piled up on the coverlet at the foot of the bed, as though to comfort him.

Merlin took his time, checking him for fever and helping Harry into some proper pyjamas. His warm red dressing gown went on over those, and Merlin tucked Harry into bed with the television playing soft nonsense for background noise. As soon as he was settled, the pups all lay over his legs, though Bernie, the mutt Merlin had originally chosen, curled into Harry’s side.

Harry was much too tired to argue, and he lay back with his hand on Bernie’s head.

“That’s my good lads,” Merlin said, fond as anything. He pressed his lips to Harry’s warm forehead. While Harry was a space heater in general, this was unnatural – this was not the glowing coal that Merlin associated with his—with Harry.

If he didn’t give it a name, he didn’t have to address it.

“I’ll get you some soup,” he said.

“Cup of hot tea instead?” Harry wheedled. “You’re the only one who knows how to do it.”

Merlin smiled. “Sure. Soup can wait till later. You rest.”

He set the meds down on the side table with a glass of water, and Harry reached for them as he left. Tissues were collected and Merlin got on the tea.

By the time he got it to the bedroom, Harry was asleep. Merlin gave him a fond, exasperated smile, set down his tea, and stroked his hand through sandy curls. Harry mumbled and turned his face into Merlin’s palm.

“Like a bloody big cat,” Merlin murmured, but he bent and kissed Harry’s head again, trying not to linger. He was unable to help just a little, but his phone buzzed and he gathered his things.

“Hello?” he asked. “Yes, yes, I’m coming. I popped out for lunch. Tell Morgana that Galahad is finally resting.”

Underneath five dogs and the quiet murmur of the telly, Harry Hart slept on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed fluff after that last one, I dunno about you.
> 
> ^ Actually me when I write that stuff.


	16. Regarding Barcelona

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Prompt:
> 
> Anonymous said:  
> kingsman - WHAT HAPPENED IN BARCELONA
> 
> Anonymous said:  
> Harry/Merlin - A fic about that night in Barcelona that they do not bring up ever again but think about constantly. Do they get together because of alcohol slipping the control they've had over emotions they've kept for the longest time? Or was it purely from adrenaline after an almost failed mission/mission that went really well and the feelings are felt after the sex? Or was it something they had to do to keep a cover and they just went the extra mile? Up to you!

“—and then James, he leans back in his chair, very casually, wipes the veal off his glasses, and asks for the check.” Percival snickered into his glass, relaxed in the comfortable armchair by the fire. Fairy lights danced in his hair, haloed by the Christmas tree that sat in the corner. There were gifts there, but those were for the morning, and tonight was for celebration.

The Knights were all in one place, at one time. A rarity at best, with so many of them off on mission for most holidays.

“Really?” Eggsy asked, seated on a squashy cushion he’d brought in from his dormitory. The other Knights laughed a little, nodding in agreement. While they hadn’t been there, the footage had obviously been passed around, from the smiles.

Eggsy accepted another toddy from Roxy, and she joined him on a cushion of her own. The other Knights lounged on the couches scattered about. They’d picked their plates clean hours ago, but it was apparent that this was a rarity in Kingsman, everyone here together.

“Oh, yes, yes,” Percival said, leaning back in his chair. He went silent for a moment, and they all did, looking down into their glasses at the mention of the fallen Lancelot. His mouth twitched down in a frown. “James was a good ‘un.”

There was a ripple of silence through the group of knights, each of them falling sad and silent.

“To James,” Gawain said, and drank.

“To James,” they echoed. Percival drained his glass and set it aside.

The Knight shot a glance at the couch, where Merlin was perched in the crook of Harry’s arm. A new thing, one that had only taken place recently. With the new Arthur in place and his magician by his side, the ripples of change in Kingsman could already be felt. Harry’s hand rested on Merlin’s shoulder, and both looked content to settle into each other’s presence.

“Though we were hardly the wildest,” Percival said, his eyebrows rising. “I mean, no one in their right mind could top Barcelona.”

There was a chuckle from the rest of the Knights and several knowing looks shot at Harry and Merlin. Merlin shifted, his gaze dropping back to his mug of eggnog.

“Barcelona?” Eggsy asked. “What’s in Barcelona?”

Merlin’s ears went a bit pink, and Eggsy’s curiosity tripled. Nothing flustered Merlin, so whatever it was, it _had_ to be good.

“Oh, that’s not my tale to tell, Galahad,” Percival said. “You’d have to ask Arthur about that one.”

Harry gave a small smile. “Not tonight. Perhaps another time.”

“Oh, come on,” Eggsy said. “You can’t just expect me to leave it there.”

“Oh, but we are,” Harry said. “It’s past midnight and unlike you, lad, the rest of us need our sleep.”

“That’s a bloody cop,” Eggsy said.

Harry merely smirked and stood, stretching. Merlin stood with him, rubbing the back of his neck and not meeting Eggsy’s gaze.

“That’s life,” Harry said easily. “If you want to know, you’ll have to find out for yourself.”

“Ooh, that was the wrong thing to say,” Roxy said.

Eggsy scowled. “All right, I’ll show you.”

“I’m sure you will. For now, though, bed. Presents in the morning?”

There was a chorus of ‘ayes’ and good night wishes as Harry wandered out. Merlin went with him, and the room seemed to follow their movements with a fond sort of exasperation. Eggsy realized that Harry and Merlin’s new relationship must’ve been a long time in coming; the other Knights treated it as a foregone thing.

Roxy nudged him. “How’re you going to find out?”

“Just watch,” Eggsy said.

* * *

Two weeks later, he managed to corner Percival. While Percival had been initially wary of him, he’d warmed up to Eggsy in the last six months or so. Perhaps it was because Eggsy treated Roxy with respect. Word filtered quick through Kingsman, and Percival did thank him for the parachute stunt. He seemed to look on Roxy as a legacy, and Eggsy could understand that.

Eggsy seemed to be Harry’s, after all.

He found Percival in the kitchenette on the first floor. It wasn’t the large open kitchen in the back, but a small ‘break room’ sized affair toward the front so that there wasn’t as much time wasted walking back and forth. No full stove, but a sink and a refrigerator, with a slew of electric kettles and an espresso machine lined the counter.

“Ah, young master Unwin,” Percival said, leaning against the counter as he waited for his tea to steep. He offered a plate of danishes to him. “Peckish?”

“Sort of,” Eggsy said, reaching for a danish. He took a bite and chewed carefully, making sure to swallow before speaking again. He could play their game. “I was wondering about Barcelona.”

“Ah, I see,” Percival pulled his tea strainer from his cup and tapped it against the sink to dispense with most of the liquid. “I’m afraid that’s not my story to tell. I wasn’t there, you see.”

“Who was?” he asked.

“Well, there was Merlin, and Gala—Arthur,” Percival said, correcting himself. “I do believe Gawain was running their observation. You might’nt ask him.”

“Gawain, huh?” Eggsy took another bite and chewed thoughtfully.

“Mm, he should be back from New Zealand shortly. Perhaps in a week?” Percival’s brows drew together. “I believe that’s the case. As it stands, I couldn’t give you an accurate retelling.”

“Nah, mate, you’ve helped.” Eggsy shot him a grin and padded off with his danish.

* * *

Gawain was a large man. Not in the way Eggsy usually thought about it – Gawain’s hands were the size of dinner plates. A literal mountain of a man, Gawain was the biggest Knight they’d ever fitted with a suit. His arms were larger than Eggsy’s thighs, and Eggsy had a healthy respect for him – he’d seen Gawain move once during a training session.

All Kingsmen seemed to have that preternatural speed thing down, though Eggsy knew it was merely training.

Despite this, Eggsy didn’t know him too well, though Gawain greeted him affably enough.

“What’s the newest Knight want from me?” he asked. “I’m certain I don’t have as many field missions as our Arthur.”

“Yeah, but it’s not the war stories I’m looking for,” Eggsy said. “I want to know about Barcelona.”

Gawain chuckled, leaning back in his chair and packing a pipe. “Well, I haven’t heard the city referenced that way in years.”

“So you do know?”

“Oh, yes,” Gawain said, smiling. “As much as there is to know, that is. Terrible fire, it wiped most of the files. Microfiche burns so easily.”

Eggsy fair to vibrated. “ _Tell me._ ”

“Well, let’s see,” Gawain said. His voice was a heavy rumble in his chest, and Eggsy had to restrain himself from shaking him. “We didn’t have the same tech back then, mind you. Everything was earpiece and guess work until Merlin came in. He really is our wizard. We had those spectacles prototyped in…was it ’91 or ’92? I can’t remember.”

“Sure, I imagine it was harder back then.”

“Oh, well, in some ways it was easier,” Gawain said. “No one tracking your movements every step of the way – easier to lose yourself in the work and get the job done without wondering what the folks back home thought.”

Eggsy nodded, waiting for Gawain to light his pipe and continue.

“Well, let’s see. Barcelona in 1983 was…hot. Balmy as all hell. I was there, too, because we didn’t have the long range equipment we do now. Our gear could span a city the size of Los Angeles, but it wasn’t yet powerful enough – the satellites you youngsters use weren’t in place yet…”

It was an hour before Gawain finished his story and pointed Eggsy toward Morgana, saying she’d know more. As he walked away, he glanced back at Gawain and realized he hadn’t told him anything at all.

* * *

“Barcelona?” Morgana asked, wrapping Roxy’s knee. She’d sprained it playing basketball on the indoor court, and Morgana tutted at her before putting an ice pack on it. Eggsy sat next to her, JB on his lap. “Why d’you want to know about that old story?”

“Well, mostly because Harry won’t tell it,” Roxy admitted. Eggsy shot her a look, and she shrugged.

Morgana frowned, tucking her hair behind her ears. She was an older lady, with the softness of age belying her incredible capability. Her hair was black save for a prominent white streak at her temples, and she had sharp almond eyes that skewered Eggsy when he hurt himself. He trusted Morgana with a lot of things.

The truth would probably be one of those things. Morgana was no-nonsense about wounds. She’d be good to ask.

“Well, I don’t actually know much,” Morgana said. “I was there as backup. This was long before I took on my current duties. I was assisting Gawain.”

“So what happened?”

“Nothing much, really, that I can recall,” she said. “It was a fairly routine mission.”

She finished wrapping Roxy’s knee and handed her an ice pack.

“No basketball or strenuous exercise for at _least_ a week.” She wagged a finger at her. “Wear a knee brace next time.”

“Yes’m,” Roxy said.

“Such a nice girl,” Morgana said, smiling. “I’m glad we’re getting new blood in here. It just…wasn’t done back in the day.”

“It wasn’t?” Eggsy asked.

“Oh, no. Arthur was very particular about our pedigrees,” she said. “If you didn’t have a family tree that spanned back to the middle ages, you weren’t worth anything, save for Merlin.”

She blinked, shuffling her kit back into the storage locker.

“Don’t mention that to him,” she murmured.

“Swear,” Eggsy said. “So Merlin’s not…”

“Oh, well…he was abandoned as a babe, grew up in an orphanage about sixty kilometers outside of Glasgow.” Morgana tutted. “He was a good lad, from all accounts. He just never…had the same pedigree. I think that rankled the old Arthur – Chester, you know?”

Eggsy sniffed. “Yeah, I know.”

“Well, he’s done right by all of us, especially you two.” She patted his shoulder fondly. “You should make sure Lancelot keeps off her feet for a while.”

Eggsy grinned. “I can do that.”

It wasn’t until he and Roxy were spread out in his new flat, her leg propped up and with ice on it, that he realized that Morgana hadn’t told him anything about anything. Roxy chucked popcorn at his head when he yelped in realization.

* * *

Arthur’s old office had been turned into a recreation room. Harry kept his own office, the pages of the newspapers still in their proper places, though the headline for V-Day was exactly that — and framed in a place of honor right behind Harry’s head. Harry was scribbling in a ledger when Eggsy knocked on the jamb, and held up a finger until he’d finished scripting whatever he’d been writing with a flourish.

“Yes, Galahad?” he asked.

“Can I sit?” Eggsy asked.

“Of course,” Harry said. “Something on your mind?”

Eggsy shut the door and seated himself in one of the plush chairs Harry kept for company. “Sort of.”

He spent a minute gathering his thoughts. Harry waited with a serene sort of patience, his hands clasped on his blotter and blinking slowly at him. Harry had this aura of calm about him, and if Eggsy hadn’t seen him in action he would have thought Harry completely ineffectual.

Really, that was why he still respected Harry. Because Harry trusted him enough to gather his thoughts and to come to a solution on his own. Without leading him. It was nice to have someone to have faith in you.

“I’d like to know about Barcelona, if I could,” he said.

Harry registered surprise with just the twitch of an eyebrow toward his hairline. “Really, now? Rather bold of you, to seek to tap the font.”

“Well, no one else was telling me anything.”

“Of course not,” Harry said, smiling. “They’re secret agents. Dissemination is what they do.”

“I mean, it’s got to be a good story, even though no one wants to tell it. Is this some kind of initiation thing? I thought we got past the hazing when I was Knighted.”

Harry smiled, leaning forward a little in his chair. “You have no memory of the 1980’s.”

“No, I was born in ’92.”

“Small mercy,” Harry said. “You don’t…know anything about how things were. We were told to keep things discrete, and we were allowed to do what we liked so long as we never outed ourselves as boors. And that, I think, is the worst of it. Rules and restrictions set into place that were never useful.”

Something hard passed across his face then, and Eggsy shivered. Harry Hart was not a man to cross, and he knew it, but that look was dark, like a roiling cloud pregnant with deadly lightning. Was it directed at the previous Arthur? It seemed like it was. There was no record left of Chester King at the estate.

They’d salted the field and left it fallow.

The moment passed, and that same bored, slightly diffident look came back across Harry’s face.

“Suffice it to say it was a…turning point, in my career.” He took a sip from his glass of water. “Was that all, Galahad?”

“I…” Eggsy weighed his options. “Yes, sir.”

Harry smiled. “When we’re alone, Eggsy, just Harry, all right?”

Eggsy smiled back. “Sure. You on for cards later?”

“Never miss it,” he said.

When Eggsy shut the door, Harry was right back to his paperwork.

* * *

“You got a minute, Merlin?” Eggsy said, leaning around the door. Merlin looked up from his workbench.

“Maybe,” he said. “Something on your mind?”

“Barcelona.”

“Ah.” Merlin took his spectacles off and rubbed his face. “And I don’t suppose I could dissuade you from looking for the truth.”

“Not really, no,” Eggsy said, coming in and plopping down on one of the stools near Merlin. Merlin handed him a small screwdriver and a pair of goggles with magnifying lenses. “Seems we had a problem not too long ago with people keepin’ too many secrets, know what I mean?”

“Touche,” Merlin said. He sighed. “Undo those casings while I think about where to start, would you?”

“Sure.” He plied his screwdriver to the electronics, undoing the plastic outer coverings. “What are they, anyway?”

“Bombs,” Merlin said, distractedly.

Eggsy froze.

“Not active, you muppet,” Merlin said. He took the casing from Eggsy and showed him. “They’re empty.”

“Oh.” Eggsy forced his heart rate back to normal. “ _Christ,_ Merlin.”

“Well, that’s what happens when you interrupt me while I put together testing materials.”

Eggsy grinned and picked up the next case. They worked in silence for a bit, though it was companionable. Eggsy liked Merlin. There was a calm, quiet surety about him. Something solid that he could get behind. He reminded him a lot of his mother, actually – when Dean wasn’t around, when he was smaller and she would sit with him and work on his numbers.

Eventually, Merlin spoke.

“You know, you’re a lot like him,” he said.

“Who?”

“Harry Hart.” The name was said with fondness, something under the surface rippling through Merlin’s brogue. Eggsy tilted his head, listening while he focused on undoing screws. “That same lackadaisical attitude towards rules – the ones you don’t think are important, anyway – the same bullheadedness, quick to anger, to violence. He controls it better, but you use it more effectively. No doubt he saw quite a bit of himself in you.”

“Not my dad?” Eggsy asked.

“Mm, that too, perhaps,” Merlin said, inspecting a plastic casing for damage. “Your father was our candidate.”

“Both yours and Harry’s?” he asked. Merlin gave a nod, setting the casing down and tapping it with thoughtful fingers.

“Lee Unwin was…an experiment. Not in the terrible way, mind you, but he _was_ a trial – could a man born common be a Kingsman?” Merlin glanced at Eggsy. “Galahad and I agreed that yes, he could be. But we had to be careful how we did it. The Kingsman recruit would need to be special.”

He picked up a screwdriver and went to work on the next device.

“Harry pitched the idea to Arthur, my job was to find a suitable candidate. Brave, loyal, trustworthy, and honorable. I had met a man like that, one that played with us in the streets when we were children. I looked him up – he and I went to different universities, but we’d kept in touch via letter.”

“And he came running?” Eggsy asked.

“Yes,” Merlin said. “He had a lovely wife and a little boy, and the mines were paying shite.”

Eggsy nodded, vague memories of the coal coating everything he touched surfacing to the fore.

“But I can’t say the experiment failed, even though I bear responsibility,” Merlin said, softly. “Harry believed so hard that Lee could do it. And he did. He made it right up to the final test. Harry missed the grenade, and Lee—”

Merlin stopped for a moment, looking down.

“I was a coward,” he said.

“You?” Eggsy asked. “I saw you stand under fire…I mean, in the jet—”

“No, Eggsy,” Merlin said. “Your father was my recruit. I couldn’t even bear to face your mum. I’m partially the reason why you had such a hard life. Kingsman…they’re different from us, you see. They didn’t even think about the need for a pension. All that money, it could have paid your way, made your mum comfortable.”

Eggsy swallowed, looking down at his knuckles.

“Harry and I fought tooth and nail for what we could get, but. It wasn’t nearly enough. We were told one favor, and you had to choose the favor. Your mum, from what Harry told me, didn’t want it. So he gave it to you.” Merlin’s brow pinched. “We’d have given her a stipend, if she’d only thought to ask.”

Eggsy pulled the medallion from his shirt, turning it in his fingers.

“I think, though, that it worked out better for you in the end. You’re a fine young man, and an excellent Knight.” Merlin’s lips lifted in a small smile. Eggsy returned it. “Your life was hard – unnecessarily so – but you persevered. There’s strength in that – strength Arthur would have never seen. You’ll be the best of all of us, if I have my say.”

Eggsy set the screwdriver down before lifting off the last casing. He set it aside and rose, moving for the door. Merlin turned to watch him leave.

“Good talk, Merlin.”

“You don’t want to hear about Barcelona?” Merlin looked up at him, bewildered.

“Nah,” Eggsy said. “I think I learned all I needed to know. Besides, the last time you got so red I thought you’d boil the kettle.”

He dodged the balled up schematic Merlin tossed at his head and wandered away whistling.

* * *

Merlin watched Eggsy go.

“Do you really think he’ll give up?” Harry asked through his earpiece.

“Maybe,” Merlin said. “Maybe not. But it stands to reason he’ll try again, eventually.”

“Mm,” Harry said, his voice thoughtful. “Do you really think all that about me?”

“I know where you sleep.”

“Yes, darling, of course you do.” Harry’s voice was warm, filled with the sort of affection that made something in Merlin’s chest loosen. He smiled down at his hands, unable to help himself. “Just, Merlin, about the dogs—”

“Don’t start with me, Hart.”

"It wouldn't be so bad if Montgomery didn't get so gassy."

"And whose fault is that? I've told you time and again, he's got a sensitive stomach and you shouldn't be feeding him those little sausages."

"But he looks at me with those eyes..."

"Oh, for Christ's sake." Merlin put his head in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm almost sorry.
> 
> Almost.
> 
> Barcelona will come in time. You'll see. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	17. Inconsequential

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Prompt -- Merlin/Harry: I know you already got a TTSS prompt, but prompt from another quote from that movie -- said by Bill Haydon, "As I said, you may fuck me but you still have to call me "Sir" in the morning."

**[1984]**

Merlin didn’t look up when Harry entered Central. It was better to ignore Harry Hart’s presence, at least until it was absolutely necessary. He’d learned to control his breathing around him, the thud of Merlin’s heartbeat only spiking when Harry came close and he caught the subtle scent of his cologne. It was tinged with the bitter bite of gunpowder today – Harry had just come from the range.

Merlin swallowed.

“’Lo, Merlin,” Harry said, splaying long, elegant fingers across his desk. Merlin was putting together his newest project, and while Harry didn’t interfere, it was distraction enough to have him there. “What are we working on?”

“Something special,” Merlin said. “Still in testing.”

“Mm,” Harry said. It was apparent that it wasn’t the answer the Knight was looking for, because he stayed there. Merlin could feel Harry’s eyes on him and he kept his head down. The hands didn’t move.

The silence stretched between them and Merlin almost tossed the prototype at him. Instead, he selected a tiny screwdriver and fiddled with the spectacles some more. He’d been reading up on a way to shrink microprocessors, and he was fairly certain he could set up a live feed. Cutting edge technology, if he could pull it off.

Arthur might even approve.

The logistics of it were still in process, and Merlin was having to machine the parts he needed himself. It required patience and steady hands, and Merlin had neither while Harry was around.

“Fancy a nibble, Merlin?” Harry asked.

“Can’t, sir,” Merlin said. “I’ve got far too much to do.”

“What happened to Harry?” Harry asked.

“’S not appropriate.” Merlin said, swallowing as he worked the tiny camera lens in. “Sir.”

“Since when have you given a damn about propriety?” he asked.

“Since Arthur pulled me aside and chastised me for disturbing the Knights, sir. You’re to be referred to by your code name, or by sir. No familiarity. Not proper.”

“ _Merlin_.”

Merlin sighed and set down his screwdriver. He looked up, and caught Harry’s expression.

He was furious.

Merlin had never seen Harry so angry. It radiated off of him in palpable waves, and Merlin had the impression that beneath that smooth aristocratic veneer of Harry’s there was a bomb waiting to go off. Harry leaned forward.

“Merlin, just...”

“Galahad, that’s enough.” Merlin’s dander wasn’t up, but he was aiming to save them some pain down the road. He set down the screwdriver and rose to shut the door.

He peered out the door and then shut it, signaling they could speak a little louder now that they had privacy. There were ears everywhere, save for in Central. Merlin’s private labs were just that – private. He swept them for bugs often, and no one else but him had a key now.

Arthur didn’t seem to object to the changes he was making, but then again, Merlin was providing him tech that was leaps and bounds ahead of the Russians and the Chinese.

“What happened in Barcelona isn’t going to happen again. We agreed on that, remember?”

Harry’s face twisted, and Merlin knew that this wasn’t the conversation he’d been hoping to have. The Knight sighed and leaned against the table, his long legs crossing at the ankle.

“Merlin, I—”

“No, Galahad,” Merlin said. “It’ll be trouble.”

“What’s a little trouble?” Harry asked.

“Galahad, you can’t be in here anymore,” Merlin said. “It’s not proper. While Arthur doesn’t know anything about Barcelona – that I know of – it’s making life difficult.”

It was an understatement, gentled for Harry’s sake.

“I was asking you to lunch, not to shag in the supply room.” Harry gave Merlin a hang dog look. It was the pleading Merlin couldn’t stand. He wanted to give in, wanted to run his hands through sandy hair and make amends, but that wasn’t in the cards for them.

“What’s the _difference_?” Merlin snapped. “You don’t bear the consequences for when we get caught. I might as well have my trousers ‘round my ankles if I’m going to break bread with you. What am I supposed to do?”

“You could redirect that tone, for one,” Harry said. “I didn’t get you into trouble.”

“You _being_ here is trouble. Or is that what you want?” Merlin said, irritated beyond all measure. “I get to fuck you, so long as I call you ‘sir’ in the morning, is that it?”

Harry slammed a hand on the table where Merlin had been working, shattering the spectacles’ delicate frames. Merlin hissed a curse and started forward, but Harry was there to block his path. While Harry was intimidating in his own right, Merlin had gone through the same training – and he was broader in the shoulders.

“You do not call me ‘sir’,” Harry said. His face was thunderous.

Merlin got nose to nose with him. “Or what, Galahad?”

“My name is Harry Hart.”

“That doesn’t mean anything here,” Merlin said. “And you know it. Now either remove yourself from my lab or I will bury you in paperwork and you won’t see action until the nineties are a memory.”

Harry drew himself up to his full height; Merlin did as well. They were evenly matched, and Merlin didn’t intimidate easy.

“Tell me Barcelona didn’t mean anything and I’ll leave you be,” Harry said.

“Don’t do this.”

“Tell me.”

“It _can’t_ mean anything,” Merlin said. Harry’s eyes flicked to his mouth, and then back up. Merlin sagged, stepping away. “Go home, Galahad. Or go and actually complete your mission reports on time.”

Harry opened his mouth to argue. He stopped, then took a deep breath. Merlin watched the transformation from man to Knight. Harry drew himself up, clenched his jaw, and his eyes hardened. He straightened his tie. The Harry he knew withdrew into his armor, and then Galahad stood before him, sharp and deadly.

“As you wish,” he said, tugging on his cuffs. “Goodbye, Merlin.”

The door closed behind him, and Merlin threw the lock, wishing he had a stiff drink.

* * *

The mug appeared on his desk six months later. It was a garish, gauche thing, a sort of reddish orange. There was a sunrise painted on it in pale reds and yellows, and white text proclaimed _“Bon Dia from Barcelona!”_ – Merlin turned the mug and saw that the sun itself had a smiley face.

He held it in his hands for just a moment, feeling the weight of the porcelain as he debated what to do with it. His thumb painted over the letters, and he scowled.

What a cruel and obvious joke. His hands tightened, and he almost hurled the thing at the wall. He even went so far as to lift it. Something stopped him, though. He glanced to the test feed, where Harry was engaged in setting up for the evening.

Galahad was in Port-au-Prince this evening, scoping out a potential arms deal. Russians were moving, and that usually meant trouble in Cuba. Merlin reached for the mic.

“All right there, Galahad?” Merlin asked. “Ready for the test run?”

“Peachy,” came Harry’s calm tone. “Is the feed working?”

“Distance seems to be working well, picture’s clear,” he said. “And no need to worry about the transmission. I’ve encrypted it. It runs to a recorder in this office, linked through a safe.”

“Ta, Merlin,” Harry said. “All set on your end?”

“Always. This should be a routine mission by now, Galahad. No funny business and we should be in and out.” He took a deep breath. “I’ll watch your back.”

“As always, I’m in your capable hands, Merlin,” Harry said. “I’ve never been safer.”

Merlin set the mug on the shelf, behind his desk. He smiled, rubbing his thumb along it. It would be a reminder.

_Take that chip off your shoulder._

“Yes, you’re safe.” _As safe as I can make you_.

“Shall we?”

“Go on, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that Merlin has a temper as well; he just displays it in other ways. Unless it happens to be Harry Hart doing the prodding. It's hard having a walking berserk button for a soulmate.


	18. Absolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Prompt: since I just saw that Kingsman gifset you posted: Harry's mouth running off again and getting him into trouble, and an exasperated Merlin thinking, "damnit harry"
> 
> A/N: This fic pokes just a bit of fun at Catholicism and the nature of confession. If that makes you uncomfortable, you might not want to read further.

_**[1993, Belfast, Ireland]** _

Harry tugged on the black cassock, smoothing the lines of fabric over his chest. He activated his ear piece and his spectacles as he did up the buttons.

“This is Galahad, checking in.”

“Read you, Galahad. My, don’t you look pious.”

“Well, I was never one to pay attention in Seminary, Merlin. You’ll have to walk me through it.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Bet you were a Protestant.”

“Anglican, actually.” He reached for the collar, tucking it into his shirt and fastening it with the metal snaps. “This doesn’t feel as bulletproof as the bespoke.”

“That’s because it’s not. You’ll be good against knives, but anything above a .38—just don’t, all right?” Merlin huffed an exasperated breath in his ear. “Do _not_ get stabbed in the cassock.”

“I’ll do my level best,” he said, a smirk curling his lips. “Who’s our target?”

“There’s a man coming in for confession before he attempts to assassinate President Mary Robinson. She’s meeting with Mother Teresa tomorrow. We’re going to nab him before he has a chance to set up. He’s a man named Brian Cleary. Tallish, says here he’s six foot. He’s thin, and he’s a smoker. Blonde, grey eyes.”

“Ta, Merlin. Cover in place?” Harry smoothed his hair and made sure his shoes were free of dirt.

“Yes,” Merlin said. “You’re coming in to give a guest sermon on the day he comes in for confession.”

“He goes to confession _before_ he does a murder?”

“I’ve seen stranger habits,” Merlin said. “Either way, it presents us with an opportunity.”

“It does, that.” Cleary had been evasive, more so than they’d anticipated. He rarely left his house, and he’d already caught their spotters unawares once or twice. Harry opened his briefcase, putting his various tools inside. The cassock didn’t have the same pockets as his bespoke, so he made do with what he had.

“You’ll take the ambon at noon mass. I’ve also arranged for you to take the afternoon confession,” Merlin said. “He’s a late riser, but his building is being watched by elements that aren’t ours, so this will have to do. I’ll be there to give you cues and I’ll be keeping an eye on things. You’ll find the sermon in your bag.”

“Ah, so ‘tis,” he said. He pulled the envelope from his carryon and paged through it. He glanced into the mirror, a brow rising. “Sexual morality? Are we trying to tell me something, Merlin?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Galahad.” There was a definite edge of amusement in his voice, though. “Better hop to it, though, you’ll be late.”

Harry tossed the sermon into his briefcase, clicked it shut and double checked his collar was straight. Merlin’s voice was a purr in his ear.

“Get going.”

Harry was thinking very unchaste thoughts as he left his hotel.

* * *

Holy Cross Catholic Retreat was a lovely church, situated on a rolling green field of grass that bordered the sidewalk. Merlin took stock of everything as Harry moved into position. It was nearly nine in the morning, but Merlin pushed Harry to be early – it would look strange if he were to show up just as the sermon began.

Merlin scanned the crowd of parishioners as Harry made nice with the local priests. His cover was as Father William Hopkins, a visiting priest on vacation. His itinerary included heading to Ireland, Scotland, and then to Spain for a tour before he made pilgrimage to the Holy See. Merlin took a sip of tepid tea and set the mug down, the garish orange catching the lamp light.

“I don’t see him yet, but we’ll find him,” Merlin murmured.

Harry kept up his conversation, but he knew he’d been heard. He scanned the crowd, and shortly before noon mass, he spotted their man. Cleary shuffled into the back and took a seat in the last pew.

“There he is, Harry. Back row, third from the left. Middle of the pew.” Harry gave an imperceptible nod; he’d seen him. “Try and take him in the confessional if you can.”

Merlin dug up more information while Harry gave his sermon. He’d rigged the security cameras inside the church to play back to his monitors with a little footwork from Percival, and now he pulled the target’s rap sheet, reading through it. While he read, he idly corrected Harry’s Latin once or twice, which Harry disguised with a cough. He gave a smirk as the sermon finished; Harry stepped away from the microphone, and muttered just for him.

“Bloody showoff.”

“Just helping you keep your cover, Galahad. You’re due in the confessional for three hours. Get to it.”

The confessional was dark as Harry stepped inside, and Merlin settled in to wait with Harry. The first confessor took their place at the kneeler and Harry slid the window aside to open up the lattice.

"In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. My last confession was two weeks ago." Merlin checked the voice print. Female, too old to be Cleary.

“Go, not him.” He took another drink of his tea.

* * *

 

What followed was arguably the longest three hours of Harry Hart’s life. Merlin knew it was his, listening to confession after confession. Most were quick, with Harry giving them light sentences as best befit the sin – Merlin was lenient with a lot of them.

He had to cut off Harry several times from making pithy remarks. He’d never known Harry to be a particularly religious man as it was – but cover was cover. Perhaps it was just Harry Hart himself, but there were several times Merlin had to hiss in Harry’s ear.

"May the Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ, the intercession of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and of all the saints, whatever good you do and suffering you endure, heal your sins, help you to grow in holiness, and reward you with eternal life." Harry dismissed the most recent confessor, an old woman who’d stolen a neighbor’s hen. The view of the glasses shifted as Harry rubbed his face and groaned.

It was nearing the two and a half hour mark. Merlin was just as exhausted as Harry, but they hadn’t seen their mark yet.

“It’s likely he’ll wait until the last are gone before attempting confession,” Merlin said. Harry nodded. “From the security cameras and Percival’s intel, Cleary is still inside.”

Harry took a deep breath and murmured a prayer for himself for patience.

“Chin up, Harry,” Merlin said. “You’re a much better priest than I am.”

“Not nearly as pious as you think,” Harry said, his voice soft. The confessional’s door opened and shuffling could be heard on the confessor’s side as someone knelt. Harry went still.

"In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. My last confession was one week ago."

Merlin ran the voice print.

“It’s not Cleary, but he’s sitting in the pews waiting on his turn,” Merlin said. “Go.”

“Of course, my child. Tell me what has happened.” Harry’s voice was flat, missing the posh overtones he carried, and Merlin almost missed them.

“I…” Merlin strained to hear the confessor. “I’m afraid I’ve made a terrible mistake, father. I met…someone, last week. We went to the pub, had a couple of pints. He was charming, funny…”

“Sounds like Percy,” Merlin muttered. He stopped. The voice was choked, and male. That, in and of itself would have been interesting. The man, he sounded young, he was near tears.

Merlin suddenly felt a pang of conscious. He knew what this was like.

Harry cut off his train of thought. “And what happened?”

“We’ve been friends off and on for six or so months,” said the confessor. “On Tuesday, we met again at the pub.”

Harry was patient, listening with an intensity he hadn’t reserved for the other penitents.

“Oh, father. We…we slept together,” the voice whispered.

Merlin opened his mouth to give the penance, but Harry had ideas of his own.

“Do you love this man?” Harry asked.

“W-what?” There was a sniffle.

“I asked if you loved this man.”

“Harry, what are you _doing?_ ”

“You had sex with this other man. Do you love him?”

“I…yes. I do. I wanted to see him again tonight. He and I were going to play darts. I thought I should tell him we couldn’t do this again. But…I want to be right in the eyes of God.”

Harry took a deep breath, and Merlin braced himself.

“Galahad, don’t do this,” he whispered.

“I think,” Harry said, ignoring Merlin, “that you should follow what your heart tells you.”

“Father?”

“This world is far too cold for you to shut love out,” Harry said softly. Merlin felt his mouth go dry, and he closed his eyes. “You love this young man, and it sounds like he loves you, too. Perhaps you should consider it a gift to share with each other instead of a burden. If it’s love, then I see no breaking of the commandment.”

“But we can’t have a marriage…” The voice was small, but it was hopeful now, not tortured. “But…for procreation, father. We can’t have children.”

“Marriage comes in time.” Harry’s voice held a tiny, tiny grin. “As for children, I think you should just keep trying until it takes. Pray for a miracle and the Lord will provide.”

Merlin buried his face in his hands with a sigh. It wasn’t truly harming anyone, but…

Harry was being very Harry.

“But…what should I do for penance?”

“I think you know. The marriage commandment is the one most…troubling. Your penance is to consider, in prayer, for ten minutes. I want you to think about someone who’s been wronged by you, and I want you to think what you can best do to rectify that.” Harry’s voice held a smile. “When you’ve done that…you might want to think on something permanent. It would mean a civil union of sorts but…until the laws can be changed – and not just the law against it, either. I think your immortal soul isn’t in jeopardy if you commit to a loving relationship.”

“Y-you think so?” the confessor asked.

“I know so. ‘Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and unto God the things that are God's.’ If the law prevents it, you’ll just have to do the best you can while following earthly laws. For now, I’d counsel you to be patient, and speak to your councilman about changing the laws. If we work together, it will mean equality, as is everyone in the eyes of the Lord.”

Merlin rubbed his forehead, sitting back in his chair. He wasn’t really listening as Harry read the benediction, but then, he didn’t have to. He closed his eyes, letting Harry’s voice wash over him.

“I…thank you, father. I will.”

“Good,” Harry said, his voice soft and warm. "May the Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ, the intercession of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and of all the saints, whatever good you do and suffering you endure, heal your sins, help you to grow in holiness, and reward you with eternal life."

“Thank you, father.”

“Go with God, my child.”

“And you as well, father.” There was shuffling, and then quiet as Harry slid the screen shut.

“I do believe that’s the least you’ve interrupted me today,” Harry murmured. Merlin startled.

“Don’t sound so smug.”

Harry’s voice held another smile. “I’m not smug. I’m just glad to see the charitable Christian spirit upon you, Merlin.”

“Why don’t you take your ‘charitable Christian spirit’ and—” Merlin checked the hacked camera, his voice going all business again. “Cleary’s moving. He’s heading for the confessional. Be ready.”

The sound of the confessional door sliding open and then closed again was too loud. The kneeler creaked, and Merlin swallowed. For obvious reasons, there were no cameras pointed at the confessional itself, so they were working on voice print alone.

Harry inhaled, let it out, and then slid the window of the confessional open.

"In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. My last confession was six months ago."

Merlin ran the voice print.

“Is there any reason for your absence?” Harry asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral. Merlin drummed his fingers as the voice print kept going. He set his mug carefully to the side, leaning forward in his chair.

“I’ve been away on work,” the voice said. “The nature of my business keeps me away.”

“The voice print says it’s Cleary, and with an excuse like that, I think we’ve got enough for a conviction,” Merlin said. “But keep him going.”

“Then something must weigh heavily on your mind, if that’s the case,” Harry said.

“Yes, father,” he said. “I been working with a group, and it’s been good work, righteous work. I know it’s to free our country, and it’s important work. Lately…it’s been hard. We done…things.”

“What kind of things?” Harry prompted softly.

“Murders,” came the voice. Merlin sucked a breath in through his teeth. “That lady on the corner, watering her garden? Protestant. Done her.”

“How many?” Harry asked. His voice was a little hoarse.

“Lots,” came the voice. It wasn’t emotionless and cold, there was a tremble there, and Cleary rumbled his words. “There was a minibus, what hit a landmine. That I done last year.”

“Good God,” Merlin muttered. He remembered reading about the massacre. The bomb had killed eight men working on a British Army barracks and injured countless more. Cleary was an incredible extremist.

“And you’ve come to confess to those sins?” Harry asked.

“And for what I’m about to do,” Cleary said.

“What are you about to do, my son?” Merlin picked up on the thread of rage in Harry’s voice, but he kept it well contained – Galahad hated involving civilians.

“The President. She’s gonna be meetin’ with that Mother Teresa lady. I’ve been charged to put a bullet in her head come Tuesday. She won’t _listen_.”

“That’s it,” Merlin said. “That’s all we need. You are cleared for detainment, Galahad.”

Merlin watched Harry consider, before he rolled up his sleeve. He dialed his watch to the tranquilize setting, and then aimed carefully through the lattice. Cleary was cut off, mid-sentence, by a dart in the neck.

“You entered through the back,” Merlin said as Cleary slumped over the kneeler. “There’s a side door where you can drag him. I’ll have Percival waiting there for you. The back halls should be clear – the clergy are in contemplations right now.”

“That door leads to a back hallway,” Harry said. “Will there be trouble?”

“Not that I’m aware,” Merlin said. “The meditations usually take place in the seminary quarters on the other side of the building.”

Harry was already gathering his briefcase. He clicked off the confessional light, then snuck out the back of the small construct. There was no one about, and he managed to work Cleary out of his side. Harry waited until he’d dragged Cleary into the hallway, then lifted him in what Merlin assumed was a fireman carry.

He grunted.

“Heavy bastard.”

“Don’t throw out your back, old man.”

“Cheek,” Harry whispered.

Percival met him outside. There was a car, and he and Harry got the sleeping Cleary into the boot without a whisper of protest. They glanced at each other in relief and slid into the vehicle.

“Mission complete, Merlin,” Harry said. Percival threw the car into gear, and soon he and Harry were trundling to the assigned safehouse. They’d secrete Cleary there, and then interrogate him. After, they’d turn him in to local authorities, when they’d made sure all conspirators had been wrapped up.

“Well done, Galahad, Percival,” Merlin murmured. “You’re both a credit. I’ll wrap the confession and hand deliver it and the evidence.”

“Ta, Merlin,” Harry said. Percival murmured agreement.

“Well done, gentlemen.” Merlin leaned back and breathed relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies if these come a little slower. I'm trying to do one a day, and I've got seven waiting for my attention in my inbox. Each one will be done, I promise. I haven't forgotten! C:


	19. Possession is 9/10ths of the Law

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Prompt: "No, this is mine." Merlahad

Merlin snatched his clipboard back from Harry’s long fingers, giving him a scowl.

“That’s mine,” he said.

“You’re incredibly possessive, Merlin. Has anyone told you that’s a negative trait?” Harry purred, leaning over his chair. Harry often draped himself across the back of Merlin’s chair, much like the great cat he resembled. Long arms and nimble fingers meant that he was free to snatch at Merlin’s clipboard, or his pens – anything he found remotely interesting or that Merlin needed.

“That’s because I’ve you and that boy of yours taking things without it belonging to you,” Merlin said, a little grumpy. “Every time I try to do something, I’ve got to smack your hands away.”

“Come now,” Harry said, reaching for Merlin’s pen. Merlin moved it out of reach, though he could hear Harry’s amusement in his voice. “Surely it’s not that bad.”

“It absolutely is,” Merlin said. “I swear, Eggsy learnt it from you, if you hear him tell of it.”

“He didn’t,” Harry said, his lips by Merlin’s ear. Merlin dodged the grip of Harry’s fingers, easing the clipboard out of reach. Harry took it from the other side, moving away and paging through it. “Besides, I’d rather you pay attention to me instead.”

“That is _mine_ ,” Merlin said, snatching it back. He rose, hitting the door locks on the room as he did. He also collected the pen that had somehow made its way into Harry’s inner pocket. He scowled and advanced on Harry, who still looked smug.

“It’s all yours, until I take it,” he said, and Merlin growled as Harry plucked the clipboard from his hands again, setting it aside.

“No, it’s all still mine.” Merlin pointed at the clipboard, getting nose to nose with Harry. “The clipboard is mine.”

He set his pen aside, keeping it out of reach as he backed Harry towards the wall. “The pen is mine.”

Harry’s eyes widened a little at this sudden show of force from Merlin. Merlin wedged him against the back wall of Central, leaning into Harry’s ear and letting his voice go low and husky, full-out demanding Harry’s attention by roughening his brogue.

“And _this_ is mine.”

His hand slipped to Harry’s crotch, squeezing. Harry nearly lost his legs, if the moan he gave was any indication. Merlin ground the hard muscle of his thigh against Harry, tilting it so that Harry got the full dose of friction from it.

“Are we clear, Galahad?” he asked.

“Crystal. Fuck, _Merlin_ ,” Harry groaned, his forehead dropping to Merlin’s shoulder. “Merlin, you can’t do this to me…not without…”

“No, you brought this on yourself,” Merlin rasped in Harry’s ear. Harry jolted, shuddering. “You always did have a thing for my voice, didn’t you?”

Merlin reached around, grabbing generous handfuls of Harry’s arse. He squeezed, and Harry jerked, rutting against Merlin’s hip.

“That is also mine,” Merlin informed him, Harry shuddering as he spoke. Merlin let his voice do the brunt of the work, just the barest hint of his breath and lips grazing Harry’s ear. Close to three decades of training Harry to respond to his voice – although not necessarily like this – paid off. “And I will do with it as I see fit. So unless you’d like to have this talk again, I’d think you’d do well to remember it.”

He had him pressed against the wall, without even a hand to bare skin, and Harry Hart was wrecked. Shivering and making soft noises of want, Harry had his nose buried in the crook of Merlin’s neck. Merlin smiled against his ear, still whispering.

“Of course, now that I know this is what you liked all along, I might just tell you no, just to watch you pout.”

“ _Merlin_ ,” Harry whined. Merlin slid a hand to his front and stroked him through his trousers. His touch was firm, deliberate and meant to be absolutely scorching through his clothes. From Harry’s high pitched keen, it was just that.

“Like a teenager,” he growled, nipping at Harry’s earlobe. “Going to come in your trousers.”

Harry’s knees wobbled, and Merlin hummed, sucking a mark right beneath his ear. He nipped, hard, and Harry sagged against him, panting. He twitched against Merlin’s palm, and Merlin could feel the spreading warmth against his hand.

“Like a teenager,” Merlin purred again, stroking his fingers through Harry’s hair. His voice might have been a little fonder than he let on. “It’s the command that gets you.”

Harry gave an unintelligible mutter, boneless against Merlin’s chest. Merlin chuckled and settled him on the couch in his office, letting him get his wind back. He pressed his lips to Harry’s head and Harry cracked an eye open, looking at him in bewildered awe.

“Good talk, Galahad.”

Whistling, he picked up his clipboard and went back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eheheheh.
> 
> Sometimes you just have to take control.
> 
> (Harry is absolutely nettling him on purpose, so don't feel too badly for him.)


	20. Torpor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Prompt: Merlin's glasses (Harry carefully taking them off his nose for whatever reason)

It was quiet in Central by the time Harry got back. The lights around the estate had been dimmed for hours now, even Arthur gone home to bed. Harry’s flight had been late, and he’d taken the layover in Berlin even though he’d been itching to get home. He and Percival had dragged in at an ungodly hour, but Harry was certain he’d find Merlin downstairs.

He left Percival up top, the other Knight wishing him a good rest of the evening as he headed for the barracks and his bed. Harry had one final stop before then, and he made his way to the elevators hidden in the pantry.

He entered the server room, the hum of the machinery quiet this time of the evening. He poked his head into the office that was sequestered in the back, and smiled.

Merlin was indeed in, but the tech wizard was slumped over his console, snoring softly. His glasses were askew, and Harry tutted to himself as he strolled over. Merlin would hurt his back that way, he knew, waking up stiff and sore. A mug of cold tea sat on the table next to his hand, and Harry picked that up first.

To Central’s kitchenette it went, and Harry tiptoed away.

He ran his fingers across the ugly red-orange of the patina on the mug with a fond expression on his face. Harry poured out the tea in the little kitchenette’s sink, gave the mug a rinse, and then set it aside to be washed in the morning.

Harry debated, then began to fold out the couch. It wasn’t much better sometimes, than the desk itself, but Merlin had stored a sleeping pad that made it comfortable. He set everything up, making up the bed. When he was done, he turned to the desk.

Merlin hadn’t stirred, and Harry gently removed his glasses. The wizard grumbled to himself, a wrinkle forming between his brows. Folding Merlin’s glasses, he tucked them away into their case in the desk and left them where Merlin could find them in the morning.

Next was the man himself.

Harry didn’t want to disturb Merlin, but it was necessary. He’d be grouchy as all hell if he woke up sore. Harry locked the server room door and leaned down next to Merlin’s ear.

“Come on, dove, up you get.” He brushed his lips feather-light against Merlin’s ear and the wizard snuffled in his sleep. Harry smiled and tried again. “Merlin.”

“Mhn.” Merlin yawned and rubbed at his eyes. He blinked, unfocused and still half-asleep. “You’re home safe.”

“Mm,” Harry said. “And you’ve fallen asleep at your workstation again. Come on.”

Merlin allowed himself to be led to the foldaway couch and settled on the edge of it. Harry brushed his fingers against Merlin’s jaw, pleased when Merlin leaned into them.

“Suppose this is payback for walking you through that last safe combination?” Merlin asked, rubbing at his eyes. Harry took a knee and started to undo Merlin’s laces.

“No,” Harry said, slipping Merlin’s shoes free and setting them aside. He helped Merlin get off his jumper and tie, unbuttoning his shirt at the collar. Merlin sighed, swaying even as he sat there. Harry’s expression softened, and he helped Merlin settle on the bed.

One of Merlin’s endless, tatty quilts was at hand, patterned in pale pastels and florals, and Harry pulled it up over his shoulders. Merlin’s eyes were drooping shut even as he rolled to his back to look up at Harry. It occurred to Harry that he was on the downslope of a caffeine binge, and he shook his head at the tech wizard.

“Then why?” Merlin yawned.

“Because I love you,” Harry said, but when he looked, Merlin was already asleep, a hand draped over his stomach and breathing softly through his nose. Harry leaned down, pressed a kiss to Merlin’s forehead, and turned off the lamp. “Good night, Merlin.”

The door shut and locked behind Harry as he sought his own bed before dawn, leaving only the soft sound of Merlin’s breathing and the hum of the server racks behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love fluff. *rolls in it* Mostly because it eases all the angst I have planned for these two.
> 
> Yes, you should be nervous.


	21. Paternal Instincts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Prompt: Harry/Merlin as new parents together.

"So that's the one you chose?" Merlin asked.

"Yes," Harry said, watching with that same pleased expression as Eggsy wrote his name on the body bag. He’d been carrying himself with that same cat-got-the-cream look since he stepped out of the transport.

"Really, Harry?"

"Yes, really. I've already decided." Harry shot a sly look in Merlin’s direction.

Merlin sighed.

"He's Lee's son."

"Is he, now?" Merlin took a little closer look through the two-way mirror. "Is that why you were late?"

“Mostly. There was a pub brawl.”

Merlin sighed louder. “Again?”

“It was important.”

“You can let insults go, you know.”

“They called him a rent boy. I won’t have him talked about like that.” Harry gave a sniff. “Nor will I be talked about like that, not by some rough who thinks—”

“You and your crusades,” Merlin said. “Well, I’ll watch over him.”

“I know you will,” Harry said, squeezing his shoulder. “I have faith in you.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll keep your bloody house, raise your bloody boy. You’ve got an assignment, Galahad.” Merlin said, though there was a note of fondness in his voice. “Off you go.”

“Ta, Merlin,” Harry said, and Merlin shivered as Harry leaned in with a smile. “He’ll make it.”

“I don’t doubt it. Time to go format the first test.”

“Luck,” Harry said, then he was out the door, heading back into London proper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kingsman is all about two grumpy old spy dads who adopt a baby Knight, and if you think otherwise you should watch it again.


	22. A Real Kingsman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Prompt: Harry/Merlin: Rocknrolla AU.

Eggsy was twelve when he met his Uncle Merlin.

Dean had been at his mum again, and he’d never been one to let her go down without at least trying to protect her. He went at Dean’s thigh with his fists, trying to distract the asshole long enough for his mum to crawl away and get ice for her lip.

Dean turned, his fist raised to swing.

Instead, there was a pounding at the door.

Dean scowled.

“Who the hell’s called the rozzers?” Dean grumbled, and adjusted his clothes. He pointed at Michelle, then at Eggsy. “Not a peep out of either of you, or you’ll get double.”

He said it in a low, serious voice, and Eggsy subsided.

Dean cracked the door. “Who’re you?”

“Census.” And then the door exploded inward, knocking Dean to the floor. A man with glasses and a high widow’s peak in his dark hair stepped in, wearing a suit. He jerked the lapels straight and shut the door, turning the bolts. “Are you all right?”

Eggsy’s mum nodded. “It’s fine, he was just—”

“Here, now, love. You’re not hurting anyone but you and Eggsy with that kind of talk.” He helped her to stand, then settled her in a chair. Gentle fingers inspected her face. “You’ll want ice and stitches for that, I’ll warrant.”

She nodded slowly, taking the proffered handkerchief. Eggsy was crouched beside Dean, looking with fascination at his slack face. The man took a knee next to Eggsy, and when the boy looked up at him, he offered him a smile.

“Hullo, Eggsy.”

“Who’re you?” Eggsy asked.

“A friend, I hope. You still got your dad’s medal?” Eggsy nodded, pulling it from his shirt. “Brilliant. That means you can help me.”

The man hauled Dean up and shoved him into a chair. He pulled out little plastic ties as Dean began to groan. Wrenching his stepfather’s arms behind his back, he linked them together. Then he tied Dean’s ankles to the chair. Dean shook his head like a stunned steer and snorted, blood dribbling from his nose onto his shirt.

“He do this often, Eggsy?” the man asked.

“No, sir, he doesn’t.” Eggsy’s mum got up and put water in the kettle. She frowned, dabbing at her split lip.

“Now, what’d I just say?” the man said. He turned to her, raising a dark brow. Michelle Unwin fell silent for a moment. “Is this how you want your son to remember you?”

She shook her head, pressing the handkerchief to her lip again.

“Let me see your face,” he said softly. He stood, moving forward. She didn’t shy away but Eggsy tensed all the same.

“You’re not gonna hurt my mum,” Eggsy said, putting his hands on his hips. “Dean…he does this a lot.”

“Mm,” he said, pulling a cloth-wrapped packet from inside his coat. Inside were plasters and more first aid items. Eggsy relaxed. “I figured. Let me get your mum patched up, and then we’ll take him into the garden for a little chat.”

“You haven’t even told us your name.”

“I used to go by—” He stopped himself and took a deep breath. “My name is Merlin.”

“Merlin?” she asked.

“Mhm.” He stitched her lip closed carefully, his fingers gentle as he worked. “Now. You pour yourself a stiff drink. Eggsy and I are going to have a long talk with your husband.”

“We’re not…”

“I figured,” Merlin said. He brushed her chin with his thumb, inspecting his work before he put a light plaster over it. “No wonder Lee loved you. Loyal to the end.”

She sucked in a startled breath and Merlin smiled at her.

“I’ll handle it, with Eggsy’s help. Please close the door behind us.”

Eggsy had to wonder that his mum did as she was asked.

“Come on, then, Eggsy.” Merlin drug the chair and his stepdad to the center of the tiny garden. Night had fallen long ago and the council housing was quiet. Eggsy looked around.

“What’re we gonna do?” Eggsy whispered. Merlin removed his tie, tucking it in his coat.

“We’re gonna teach this muppet a thing or two about hitting women.” Merlin removed his coat, hanging it on a fencepost. “Now, Eggsy. You know how to fight?”

“Yeah,” Eggsy said, holding up his fists.

“Good boy, yeah?” Merlin grinned at him and his eyes flashed in the dim lights cast from the house. The moon was full, painting the yard in an eerie silver glow. Dean was starting to wake up. He groaned again, and Eggsy stepped forward, putting up his fists.

“No, no,” Merlin said. “Fists down. I’m going to teach you what we do to garbage.”

Eggsy dropped his hands, uncertain.

“Now, my lad, when you want to intimidate. What do you do?” Merlin rolled his sleeves up. Eggsy could see his forearms were corded with muscle. Eggsy shrugged, scuffing his trainers. “Ah, I see. So Dean’s done his work on you, too?”

Eggsy swallowed, then nodded. “When I tell him not to hit me mum.”

Merlin’s face darkened. “Come here, Eggsy.”

When Eggsy hesitated, he made a gesture of impatience.

“Come here, boy. I won’t hurt you.” Eggsy moved to Merlin’s side. “Now. When we hit garbage, we want them to feel how low they actually are. The fist is for an equal. This man is not your equal, and he never will be.”

Eggsy listened, watching Dean’s head slowly sway as he regained consciousness.

“When you want to show contempt, you slap.” Merlin reached for Eggsy’s hand and uncurled his fingers. “Slap him as hard as you can, and show him what you think of him.”

Eggsy hesitated, then brought up his left hand and slapped Dean across the face.

“With the right, Eggsy, properly.” Merlin folded his arms.

Eggsy wound up and slapped Dean with the palm of his hand, catching him on the nose.

“No, no, lad. Come on, do it properly, with the back of the right hand.”

Eggsy wound up again, something bursting forth as he backhanded Dean across the face with the back of his hand. Dean howled as his head snapped back.

Merlin’s smile was cold in the moonlight.

“Not bad, lad. You’ll need to get the torque that comes with muscle, but that was a good’un. Now, lemme show you what it should look like.”

Merlin ushered Eggsy to the side and settled into a loose, easy stance. He shifted just a little, adjusting the ring he wore on his middle finger. For a moment, all was still, the frogs peeping in the darkness.

Merlin reared back in a single, smooth motion. The back of his right hand cracked across Dean’s face, sending both the chair and the man bound to it spinning in an awkward heap onto the ground. There was the crunch of bone and Merlin straightened, looking satisfied.

“That’s how we do it,” Merlin said. He tipped Eggsy a wink. “You’ll need to remember that, hey?”

Eggsy nodded, something lanced in his chest as he watched the man that had bullied his mother for years lying in a groaning tumble on the ground.

“But.” Merlin knelt in the damp grass and took Eggsy’s shoulders. “Only for people who hurt others. He does that to yer mum again, I want you to call me.”

He slipped a card into Eggsy’s pocket.

“Now, if you can master a slap like that, there's no need for your clients to hold back. They will open up like a fountain, full of words. No need for strong violence, no no. They're transported back to their childhoods. Putty in your hands. Ask Dean. Look, thinks he's back at school.”

Eggsy looked down at Dean’s dazed expression. Something dark curled in his chest, but he remembered Merlin’s words and held onto it – for the people who hurt others weaker than them.

“All right, Eggsy?” Eggsy nodded. “Good. Head on inside while I have a word with Dean here.”

Eggsy banged on the door to be let in and Michelle opened it without a word. Eggsy turned back to look as Merlin righted the chair with Dean in it, leaning in close to whisper something. He didn’t get to hear what, because his mother shut the door again.

* * *

“Shit, we’re late,” Harry said. He and Eggsy hurried down the hall.

“Galahad.”

“My code name.”

“Late again, sir.” The man who met them looked at his watch.

“Uncle Merlin?” Eggsy squinted. The tall man’s head was clean-shaven now, but there was no mistaking that profile. He’d only seen him last year, right before he’d gone into the marines.

“Eggsy, my boy.” Merlin grinned at him. He slung an arm around his shoulders and squeezed him. “How’s Michelle?”

“She’s good. Got a baby sister.”

“Still with Dean?” Merlin scowled.

“Yeah, but I’ve got it handled,” Eggsy said. He waggled his right hand’s fingers where a heavy ring sat, perched on his middle finger.

“That’s my boy,” Merlin said. “Go on, then, in with you. We’ll be starting soon.”

Eggsy ducked his head, pleased, and stepped into the barracks.

* * *

Harry’s look was incredulous.

“’ _Uncle Merlin_?’” he asked.

“He needed the help,” Merlin said, shrugging.

“Arthur would’ve killed you for interfering.”

“That’s why I didn’t tell him,” Merlin said, his voice prim. “What would I have said? I stepped in and beat the hell out of his tosser stepfather? Because I did.”

He gave Harry a steady look. When Harry glanced into the barracks, he hid a smile.

“And I doubt you’ll be telling him,” Merlin said.

“I won’t.” Harry rolled his shoulders. “You won’t be easy on him.”

Merlin snorted. “You know I won’t.”

“Good. Luck, then. I’ve got to prepare to speak with Professor Arnold.” Harry glanced at Merlin. “What did you do, then?”

“I slapped him around a couple of times,” Merlin said. “Inconsequential, in the long run, but it made Dean leave off Michelle and Eggsy, which was my aim. Hard to be an abuser when you fear someone kicking your teeth in every time you turn around.”

Harry stared.

“We all have our secrets, Galahad,” he said. “Mine are just darker than most.”

“Apparently so,” Harry said. He squeezed Merlin’s shoulder. “Not that I blame you. I just know where you vanished to at night, now.”

Merlin’s smile held just a sliver of frost. “Of course, Harry. Off you hop, I’ve got recruits to run through the ringer.”

Harry nodded and slipped off, leaving Merlin alone with the new Kingsman hopefuls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin is not a nice man.
> 
> (Also this turned into a little more of Merlin and Eggsy bonding but it still counts, I feel.)


	23. On Caring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Prompt: Hey I love your work! Do you think you could write some domestic harry/merlin? :)

James brought Harry in straight from their flight.

“I’m dumping him in here with you, Merlin,” he announced, depositing Harry on the couch. Harry grumped at him, elbowing him in the ribs, because he seemed to be in a lot of pain.

“Why the devil are you leaving him here, why not take him to the infirmary?” Merlin had already taken several steps forward to see to Harry.

“Because he’s only pulled his back. He’s not seriously wounded, but he’s a right bear if left to his own devices,” James said. He waggled his eyebrows at Merlin. “Thought I’d leave him with the honeycomb instead of with the bees.”

“Jog on, Lancelot,” Harry growled. He winced, his back spasming. Merlin clucked at him, but James was grinning fit to split.

“See? Bear. Have a good time with the old grizzly, Merlin.” James tipped him a wink and a jaunty salute, sauntering out of Central.

“Wanker.” Harry groaned, arching off the couch. “I’m fine, really.”

“What’ve you gotten yourself into now, Galahad?” Merlin asked, watching Harry struggle to get his coat off. “Now…you’re going to make it worse. Come on, hold still.”

“I mean it, Merlin, I’m fine.” Harry grimaced when his back spasmed again and Merlin gave him an arch look. “All right. I might’ve strained my back.”

“You’re getting old, Galahad.”

“Shut up.” Harry’s face was a near rictus of pain, and he sagged.

Merlin helped Harry get his coat off, hanging it up before he frowned.

“Have a lie down, I’ll get some ice.”

“Thank you,” Harry said, loosening his tie and shucking it to the table. He unbuttoned his collar and lay on his stomach, grimacing. Merlin was worried. There was none of the patented dry Hart wit; that meant that he was truly in pain.

Instead of the ice pack, Merlin rummaged through his private stores until he came up with his muscle liniment. He grabbed the bottle of brandy he kept in the back for late nights and lost comrades. He’d never had anyone to drink with up until now, each sip a solitary activity.

He splashed some into a glass, handing it to Harry.

“What’s this, then?” Harry asked.

“I’m going to take care of you.” Merlin set the liniment down. “Shirt off.”

“At least you brought me a drink,” Harry said, knocking back the finger of amber liquid. He grimaced, turning his nose up at the inexpensive brandy. “My god, that’s rank.”

“Better than nothing at all. Shirt.” Harry sat up with help from Merlin, and they got his shirt off. The a-shirt came next and by the time Merlin was done Harry was cursing his layers.

“Bloody clothes,” he grumped, laying out on the couch. Merlin checked the door locks, then turned to Harry. The knight was sprawled on his belly, impossibly long legs splayed out, his head beneath a cushion.

Merlin fought a smile. Harry was a difficult patient at best.

“Relax,” Merlin chided him.

“Would relax more with—” Harry almost yelped as Merlin straddled the backs of his thighs. “Christ, Merlin, warn a fellow.”

“Nope,” Merlin said. He unscrewed the cap of the liniment container and a pungent stench filled the air.

“What the hell is that?” Harry asked, his voice muffled. His head retreated further under the cushion with a wrinkle to his nose.

“Something that’ll make you stop feeling so achy,” Merlin said. He warmed a little of it in his fingers and started to rub light circles into Harry’s lower back. Harry sighed out at his touch, and Merlin found the twitching muscle. “Hold still.”

“What—”

Merlin pressed hard on the muscle and Harry _howled_.

It was a good thing his head was under the cushion, Merlin decided. It muffled a lot of it.

Merlin worked the muscle loose, the contractions ebbing as he worked more liniment into the small of Harry’s back. Harry was squirming, his knuckles white on the cushion. Merlin coaxed the muscle to slackness, letting it relax. As he did, Harry’s screaming ebbed, and then…it became a groan.

Merlin’s smile returned. There was the old Harry.

He kneaded out the rest of the tension in the small of Harry’s back and then moved up, rolling his fingers over the muscles of his back. Harry had a gorgeous back, corded with muscle and strong. Merlin was broader, but Harry was far more sculpted – hazard of being stuck in the office while Galahad sauntered about the world, he supposed.

Harry was fair to purring while Merlin worked, putty in his hands.

Merlin ran his thumbs against Harry’s spine, drawing a moan from his patient. Merlin repeated the movement, and Harry finally poked his head out from underneath the cushion.

“ _Where_ did you learn this?” he asked, his eyes dark and pupils blown wide.

Merlin kept going, drawing a longer, needier moan from Harry. “Morgana needed the skills, and she asked me to come along. Sometimes Knights need preventative care. We got a better deal on the courses if we took them together, so here I am.”

“You cheapskate,” Harry said, fond. He groaned again as Merlin attacked another knot in his back. “Christ, don’t stop.”

“I take it you’re enjoying yourself, Galahad?” Merlin said, dropping his voice and leaning over Harry’s back to whisper in his ear.

“God, yes,” Harry said, muffled from where he’d buried his head in the cushion again. He poked his head back up for a moment, grinning. “Do I get a happy ending?”

Merlin pretended to consider, working knots in Harry’s shoulders loose. Harry melted under him, boneless and groaning. He smoothed out Harry’s back, and finally sat back, satisfied.

Standing, he capped the jar of liniment and wiped down Harry’s back with a damp towel to get the rest of it off. Harry rolled to his side when he was done, looking up at him with a hooded expression.

“Well?” he asked. He patted the couch next to him. “Come on, then.”

Merlin snorted. “No, Galahad. I should get back to work. But you’ve been on a cross-continent flight and have been in pain for most of it. You should sleep.”

“But…”

“Sleep, Galahad. I’ve reports.” Merlin said. Harry yawned, belying how tired he actually was. Merlin gave him a fond look and covered him over with a quilt. Harry nuzzled down against the cushions.

“Offer’s still open,” he said, yawning again.

“I know,” Merlin said, unlocking Central’s door once again. “Maybe later, yeah?”

He glanced over at Harry to find he’d already dropped off to sleep. Merlin smoothed Harry’s hair from his face, watching over him for a moment before he sought his workstation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is as good as it gets some days for these two. Still, though, it's worth it - for the both of them.
> 
> I'm sorry if these seem to be coming slowly. I try to get at least one done a day, and sometimes when one blows up to be longer it becomes a problem. I appreciate everyone's patience, and if I haven't gotten to your prompt, I will. I promise.


	24. Matrimony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Prompt: Merlin and Harry getting married

[ **Antalya, Turkey, 1998** ]

Merlin noticed first. The woman to the left of their table had recognized Percival. While he’d never been to Istanbul himself, Merlin recognized the woman in question. She’d been the daughter of a minor noble who Percival had drawn in to gain access to his target last year.

He’d been Percival’s handler on that mission.

Merlin kicked Harry gently under the table, flicking his eyes at the woman. She had her head tilted, staring as if trying to remember Percival.

Their cover was going to be blown, so Harry did what Harry did best – he saved their arses. He jerked his eyes toward their mark, signaling that Percival and Lancelot were to move. Merlin made to rise as well, but Harry put a hand over his.

“You’re going to kill me,” he hissed. Merlin at first looked confused, but then Harry dropped smoothly to a single knee.

“Oh no,” Merlin said, looking around. They’d drawn stares. Percival and Lancelot slipped around the corner, so they were no help; they’d be going after the mark while Harry kept everyone distracted. “Don’t you _dare—_ ”

Harry just put on a besotted smile and took Merlin’s hands. Merlin could feel the blood rush to his face; he tried to jerk his fingers away, but Harry had him in an iron grip.

“You know, Ethan,” he said, _sotto voce_ so everyone could hear him (the prat). “We’ve been together a long time now.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Merlin whispered as heads swiveled their way.

“Fifteen long, loving years together,” Harry continued, unperturbed. He glanced around at the patrons of the restaurant. “And honestly, I’ve waited far too long for this.”

“I’m going to murder you,” Merlin hissed. Harry pulled a ring box from his waistcoat and Merlin goggled at him. Where had he gotten it from?

Had he _planned this diversion the entire time_?

“So tell me,” he said, looking up at Merlin in that puppy way he had. His eyes softened around the edges and in his panic, Merlin almost felt he meant it. “Will you make me a happy man?”

“I—” Merlin looked around at the patrons. Most wore looks that stated they weren’t amused, for various reasons – Harry had just violated almost all of Turkey’s public decency laws. “I…yes, of course, now get up off the floor, you big muppet.”

Harry rose, wrapping an arm around him. He paid the tab, sliding the ring box between Merlin’s fingers and escorted him out of the restaurant.

“Mission completed,” Lancelot said in Merlin’s earpiece, and Merlin breathed a sigh of relief that had nothing to do with the warm air hitting his face as they left.

* * *

Percival set down the microfiche in the suitcase, tucking it into the hidden pocket at the back of the case. They were leaving in the morning, and would spend the night here. First, though, they’d all convened in Merlin’s room for successful mission drinks and debrief from Central. Gawain had signed off moments ago, even as Lancelot splashed more brandy into Merlin’s glass.

“So what was the ruckus when we left?” Lancelot asked, grinning between the two of them. As a fairly new Knight, he’d not had the benefit of seeing Harry and Merlin interact for years. Percival had, and shook his head.

“Nothing,” Merlin said. Harry looked like the cat that had gotten the cream.

“So, no wedding bells, then?” James needled.

Merlin scowled.

“No,” he said. “It was never meant to be, you see, because the man betrothed to me is an utter tosser.”

Harry sputtered; James snorted into his glass, grinning fit to split. Martin scooped up the ring box.

“So this was a planned diversion?” Percival asked. Merlin shrugged.

“Ask Harry, he’s the one who prepped it.” Merlin glanced at Harry and found him scowling into his glass. He looked like his whole evening had soured, and Merlin’s heart sank. Maybe it’d been serious?

No, not Harry. Never that serious.

“Mm,” said Martin, replacing the box on the table without opening it. “We should sleep before the flight leaves, James.”

James looked down into his glass, finished off his brandy, and then rose.

“Quite right,” he said. “See you gents in the morning.”

Merlin nodded as Harry gave them both a cursory wave. They left him alone in the room with the brooding Harry. Merlin chanced a look at him.

“You didn’t even open it, did you?” Harry asked, once the door was shut.

“No. I figured this was a planned, desperate diversion, and so the box was empty.”

“It’s not,” Harry said. He drained his glass, setting it down gently before he rose. “Good night, Merlin.”

Merlin tried to find something to say, but Harry was gone before he could get the words out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _...sort of._
> 
> Sorry I've been quiet for a couple of days. I've been [just a little busy.](http://thebespokeknight.tumblr.com/)


	25. Sir Galahad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Prompt: Merlin gets kidnapped and Harry has to mount a rescue.
> 
> [A/N: Warnings for torture in this chapter.]

“—all I’m saying is that it would be good to be seen on mission,” Harry said.

“Absolutely not.” Merlin snapped. “You’re not going out on mission. It’s not done.”

“Merlin,” Harry said, exasperated. “Chester took on missions well into his—”

“I won’t have it!” Merlin snapped, slamming his hand on the table.

Harry stiffened, and Merlin watched his anger leak into his features since the first time he’d initiated the conversation. Harry had been bringing up the missions more and more, and Merlin realized Harry was getting antsy.

Harry’s brows drew down into a scowl, making him look more fearsome than Merlin remembered. His crushed zygomatic orbital bone had healed, but not without a network of scars, thin red lines that were the best plastic surgery could do. They radiated across his cheek from Valentine’s shot, a reminder.

And a warning.

Merlin stood, meeting Harry’s gaze.

“It’s out of the question,” Merlin said. “Not now, not ever. I’m not about to sacrifice you because you want to have a jaunt out on mission.”

“Since when did you become my fucking nanny, Merlin?” Harry snapped. “What changed?”

“Since I had to watch you get shot in the fucking head, Harry.” Merlin’s voice was quiet. “I’m not going to do it again.”

“Then don’t. Let someone else handle me.” Harry said.

Merlin stiffened. Harry clamped his jaw shut. His nostrils flared, and Merlin shook his head.

“Go home, Harry,” Merlin said. “We’re not having this conversation.”

“Will you come?”

“No. Go home, sleep this off. When you cool down, we’ll attempt to discuss it again.” Merlin set down his tablet. “There’s no talking to you when you’re this way.”

Harry’s brows drew down. “Then I’ll be at my new flat.”

Merlin flinched. The old flat belonged to Galahad – Eggsy – now. Harry had opted to search for his own space instead of ousting Eggsy and his family upon his return. Merlin had offered his own for a time, but Harry had declined initially.

Best to be separate while they navigated this new thing between them. The new thing that was in reality thirty years old, the stubborn weed that had taken root in Barcelona and had refused to be divested, winding thorns throughout them both. It had turned into a formality within months, with either Harry or Merlin staying overnight depending on location.

Now though, the term ‘my flat’ sounded like a finality.

Merlin sighed as Harry walked, stiff and angry, from Central. The door shut behind him, closed gently even though Harry was boiling mad.

Merlin rubbed his face and got back to work.

* * *

It was near dawn before Merlin dragged to Harry’s flat. It was quiet, the streets not yet beginning to bustle with the morning traffic. It was cool, and Merlin was glad for his jumper under his coat. The air helped to clear his mind, helping him decide what to say when he got there.

Merlin knew what time it was; he often had to be dragged out of Central. He’d gotten swept up in new schematics and training schedules, but that was no reason not to apologize. He’d been out of line, perhaps, in being overprotective.

Harry took all precautions. Valentine hadn’t been anything what they’d expected.

Merlin’s own insecurities notwithstanding, Harry was as well protected as he could be. And yes, he was upset at the idea of Harry going back out into the field. He didn’t _want_ Harry to put his own life in danger like that.

But, honestly, it wasn’t his choice to make on his own. There were ground rules that needed to be laid, conversations that would need to take place. Merlin sighed as he fished for his keys. They caught on the corner of his trouser pocket, jingling as they fell to the ground.

“Damn,” he muttered, bending to retrieve them.

When he rose, there was darkness as someone shoved a black bag over his head. He turned, but someone brought something heavy down over his head. The last thing he heard before he lost consciousness was the sound of tinkling glass.

* * *

Harry shot up in bed as the dogs started barking. Glass had broken in the house and he slid from beneath the blankets, his whole body taut. He was wearing nothing but his pyjamas, but he didn’t bother with his dressing gown as he made his way downstairs in the dark.

He’d taken the dogs from Merlin’s flat on his way home, given them food and water, and brought them home with him. Merlin might not be home for a few days, and he’d wanted them to be cared for. All five were now going absolutely mad as the screech of tires could be heard outside. The wind blew through the flat, bringing the chill of the morning in. Harry flicked the lights on.

His sitting room was a disaster. Broken glass littered the carpet, the dogs were baying at the brick that lay almost in the center of the room. Harry summoned them to his side with a word and a gesture, and the dogs heeled.

Harry picked his way through the glass on the carpet, aware that his slippers were not at all rated for that. The brick itself had something tied to it with a bit of twine. Harry bent and picked it up, unknotting it.

A piece of paper, weighted with something heavy, lay crumpled in his palm. He unwrapped it, catching sight of Merlin’s Kingsman keyfob, inscribed with his personal ID. He unfolded the paper, his hands shaking.

**_Got him now, Eggsy boy. Come to the usual if you want your tailor back._ **

Harry’s eyes narrowed. It was written in large, sloppy handwriting, scripted with what appeared to be a chinagraph pencil. Heavy, black marking made the writing smeary, but legible. The paper was covered in greasy fingerprints.

Harry moved to his phone, the dogs clicking behind him. He dialed out to Eggsy’s number.

“Wot, Harry, ‘s five in the morning…” came Eggsy’s sleepy mumble.

“I need you at the estate, as soon as you can get there,” he said. “Merlin’s been taken.”

“ _Shit_.” Harry heard the call disconnect, and went about getting dressed so that he could get a lead on Eggsy. The dogs looked at him expectantly.

“All right, then,” Harry said. “Walkies, then into the garden with you until I can bring Papa home.”

They whined.

* * *

Merlin came to in darkness. He had a splitting headache, his hands were bound to the arms of his chair, and his legs were bound as well. All in all, this did not seem good. He closed his eyes, ignoring the throb in his head.

He concentrated on listening.

He could hear the soft _plash_ of water, the noise of it lapping against something. Beneath him? He listened further. There was raucous conversation in another room, also muted. He frowned.

Wherever he was, it was musty, stale. Perhaps that was the bag itself. It smelled like sweat and fear.

This was something that had been done before.

It smelled damp in here, and he could hear the creaking of something above him. Perhaps chains? He swallowed, trying to suss out where he was. He had a feeling, from the damp and chill in the room, it was close to the river.

He couldn’t feel his fingers.

The door opened to louder conversation, then closed to mute it once more. Shuffling footsteps got closer, and Merlin tensed.

“So that’s him, eh?”

“Yessir.”

“Don’t look like much.”

“Well, maybe he ain’t, but we wasn’t takin’ no chances.” Merlin couldn’t identify the men.

He winced at the sudden flash of bright light as the bag was drug off his head.

“Who the fuck’s this?” Merlin blinked, the faces of the two men coming into focus as his eyes adjusted. “That ain’t the tailor.”

“It ain’t?”

The one on the right was a weaselly fellow, with a thin face and a penciled moustache that made him look like a creeper. The other on the left was a man Merlin recognized. Dean, Eggsy’s stepfather. Merlin kept up the charade, blinking with a stupefied expression on his face.

“Listen, who the fuck are you?” Dean asked him.

“Who are you?” Merlin asked, injecting a little fear into his voice and masking his brogue. “I’ve not got much money, but take it, just let me go—”

“’e ‘ad the keys, Dean, I swear.”

Merlin realized they were talking about his key fob. Each Kingsman had one, it allowed access into the estate after hours – so long as one had a proper handprint to identify themselves.

“My keys?” Merlin asked. “Yeah, take them. I drive a little Citigo, but it’s not worth my life.”

“Damn it, Rottweiler, you nicked the wrong one!” Dean snatched his cap off his head and swatted at the thin thug with it. “How simple a job do I give you and you don’t do it right. Now ‘e’s gonna know summat’s up and double down on us.”

“No, he won’t,” came another voice. Merlin focused his gaze on the shadows. This one he recognized, though he hadn’t realized it was possible.

Charlie Hesketh stepped from the back of the room, into the pool of light from the skylight.

“Hullo, Merlin,” he said, smiling just a touch too wide.

“Shit.” Merlin let the façade drop, reverting back to his brogue. “Didn’t realize you still had your head, Charlie.”

“There wasn’t enough time for me to get the chip before we had to pack up, but thanks for your concern,” Charlie said, his eyes glittering. “Mum and dad certainly enjoyed it.”

“I’ll bet,” Merlin rumbled, his voice quiet. “You’re not a killer, Charlie. What’re you doing?”

“I’m not a killer, he says,” Charlie huffed. “But that little shit is. Everyone in my family, up in smoke. Inheritance gone. A pittance through the trust fund, enough to pay these knobs for legwork and have a little left over to buy that filthy tailor shop you call a business.”

Merlin smiled. “Charlie. We didn’t do this to you. You made your choices, as did your family.”

“You two, out.” Charlie gestured at the door. Dean looked sour, but nudged Rottweiler and they slouched to the door. Dean turned before they left.

“What about the tailor?”

“Oh, we’ll get the tailor. And your bouncing brat. Just my luck, you caught me someone I’ve very much been looking forward to dealing with.”

Merlin glanced at Dean, who was looking at him speculatively.

“Whatever he’s paying, you should know, it’s not worth it.”

Dean laughed, a raspy, sick sound. “Not in it for the money. I want the boy’s head on a fucking plate.”

“Then you’re both stupid.”

Dean laughed and moved into the other room, the sound of cheering going up. Must be a football game. It would drown out the noise Merlin was going to be making, of that the wizard was sure.

Charlie watched him for a moment, leaning up against a crate. He lacked the suits he’d had before; he was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, and Merlin wondered exactly how hard he’d been hit. Not that it was on Merlin’s head – Charlie’s parents had thrown in with Valentine, they’d known what they were getting into.

The young man turned his head and Merlin caught sight of scar tissue. Charlie’s forehead on the right side bore the mark of a Kingsman signet ring, likely Eggsy’s doing.

“So, how does this play out?” Merlin asked. “You threaten me, I break down?”

“Oh, no, I’ve been saving a bit for you.” Charlie’s smile was a little wider. “What say we relive old times, Merlin?”

Merlin’s eyes narrowed.

Charlie moved to the back of the room, and he could hear snarling. Charlie had dogs, it seemed. The scrabbling of nails on the concrete floor was loud as several pairs of paws advanced on Merlin.

Charlie reappeared on top of the crate he’d been leaning on.

“Do me a favor, Merlin,” he said.

Merlin looked up.

“Pick a puppy.” With that, he was gone, the door opening and closing faster than Merlin could follow.

* * *

Eggsy arrived at the estate fifteen minutes after Harry with Roxy in tow. Harry tilted his head in askance at the inclusion of Lancelot, but he let it slide. He motioned with his long fingers, legs flashing as he led them both down to Central.

“Shortly before dawn, someone threw a brick through my window,” Harry said. He opened the door to the server room, where the dogs raised their heads from their various beds scattered about on the floor.

“Whole menagerie today?” Eggsy asked, with a cheerfulness that he didn’t look like he was feeling.

“Broken glass, until the glaziers can fix it, I’ve taped the window and brought them here,” Harry said. He flicked his fingers at the table, where the note lay. “The note was tied to the brick, along with Merlin’s key fob.”

Harry looked at Eggsy.

“The note was addressed to you.”

Eggsy read over the note, his eyes narrowing as his jaw flexed.

“That’s Dean.” He looked up. “I know where he is.”

“Where?” Harry asked.

“Warehouse, just off the dock. Used to be a fishmonger’s.” Eggsy turned to Roxy. “You up to handling?”

“No,” Harry said, collecting his umbrella. “I’ll be going in on this one. They were looking for a tailor. That would be me.”

Eggsy sucked in a breath. “Harry, y’cant—”

“I can and I will, Galahad. Now, do you want to ride point or would you rather stay here?” Harry leveled a stare at him.

“Yes, sir.” Eggsy snapped to attention. Harry regarded both of them.

“Actually,” he said. “The two of you is even better. I’ll need a distraction to get Merlin out.”

He reached for Merlin’s workstation, tapping out commands that he’d learned long ago. The earpiece in his ear clicked on, but he couldn’t see anything on screen. Merlin’s spectacles were either broken or missing. Faint sounds came in through the ear piece.

The thud of a fist meeting flesh resolved itself in his ear, along with Merlin’s pained grunt.

“We need to move,” Harry said, turning to the other two, fixing earpieces in their ears. At the playback, their eyes widened. “Show me this warehouse.”

* * *

Charlie was enraged when he returned to check on Merlin’s progress. The dogs were laid at Merlin’s feet, either asleep or sitting quiet. Merlin could move his hands just enough to give them scratches, and when Charlie arrived he was babying the biggest Doberman of the bunch, rubbing between the dog’s ears as her stumpy tail wagged.

“Oh, hullo, Charlie,” Merlin said, his tone one of obvious dismissal. He knew what he looked like, sitting here like Daniel in the lion’s den. It had to rankle. “Points for effort, but I have to admit, I’ve seen better interrogation techniques. Good use of theme, however. Shows creativity and lateral thinking.”

Charlie scowled, his fringe falling over his scar.

“Fine.” He whistled at the dogs, but they just looked at him. “Well, come on, you lot. Out.”

Merlin shook his head with a wry smile. “Still not in command of your animals.”

He gave a sharp whistle, then clicked his mouth, and the dogs moved back into their pens and laid down. Charlie slammed the doors, his anger palpable.

“You think you’re in control here,” Charlie spat. “Well, let’s see how you like this.”

He reached for a remote, the kind used on pneumatic cranes to adjust the height. He pressed a button, and Merlin felt his chair begin to lift. He rose off the floor, tipping forward as the awkward attachment point changed his center of gravity. He hung, suspended about five feet in the air.

Charlie stepped forward. “Give me access to Kingsman.”

“Boy,” Merlin said, slowly and deliberately. “You’re going to have to do much better than that. I’ve thirty years of experience on you – less than a quarter of it involved wiping the runny noses of recruits like you.”

Charlie’s scowl turned into a smile.

“Perhaps I can convince you,” he said. He showed too much teeth, his eyes rolled a little too wild. Merlin felt that same sliver of unease he’d felt when he’d first seen Charlie again. “Tell me, Merlin. Have you ever gone boating on the Thames?”

“Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure,” Merlin said.

“Oh, you’re missing out. We had a rowing club at Cambridge,” Charlie said, stroking a finger against Merlin’s chair as he leaned in. “One thing we learned – never go swimming in the shallows under the piers. Do you know why that is?”

Merlin lifted his chin, watching Charlie from his exaggerated position. It was an awkward angle for his neck, but he wanted to meet Charlie’s eyes.

Charlie reached into a bucket by his feet and pulled out what looked to be some sort of crustacean from filthy water.

“These are crayfish,” he said, tilting his head to look at it, indulgent like it was a favored pet. “Not English. They're American, these crayfish. Big, hungry bastards. And like most things American, they've eaten the natives...but they've still got room for more.”

Charlie cuffed Merlin gently on the jaw and dangled the crayfish in front of Merlin’s face.

“Now. I’m going to ask you again for the access codes. Then I’m going to make a cup of tea. While I do that, I’m gonna dunk you in the river.” Charlie drug a trap door open; if Merlin had to guess, it would have been for drawing in cargo. His feet swung over the pit, and he looked down into the black water below. “You can contemplate your answer with these little fellows. I hope you can hold your breath for as long as it takes the kettle to boil.”

Charlie leaned in, getting nose to nose with Merlin. Merlin snapped his head forward, bloodying Charlie’s nose. Charlie staggered backward, looking shocked at the sight of his own blood.

“Slow down there, Charlie-boy,” Merlin rasped, grinning. His glasses were askew on his face, the lenses cracked. “You’ll never sing the same if your teeth aren’t your own.”

Charlie snarled and slapped at the button, lowering Merlin into the dark.

* * *

Harry circled the neighborhood, looking for a place to conceal the car. Roxy sat beside him, with Eggsy in the back.

“Stop here,” Eggsy said. “I’m gonna walk up.”

“We need to go in at once.” Harry pulled the car over. “While you handle anyone up front, I’ll deal with getting Merlin out.”

Roxy frowned. “How many are there usually?”

“Anywhere from eight to ten, if Dean’s buying the pints,” Eggsy said. “Why?”

“Because there’s sixteen cars.”

“Fuck me.”

“We don’t want to create a scene,” Roxy said. “Not outside at least. Do we just walk in?”

“That’s one way to do it,” agreed Harry. “Though might be messy with just the two of you. More than just drivers in those cars.”

“What d’you reckon, Rox?” Eggsy asked.

Roxy pulled the safety on her pistol and got out of the car. “I say he has our wizard and we need to get him back.”

Eggsy exchanged a glance with Harry and they followed suit.

* * *

Merlin took a few long, deep breaths through his nose as he rose from the water a second time. Charlie had obviously never done this before – Merlin had been able to turn his head and breathe that time through the corner of his mouth. Charlie hadn’t submerged him all the way.

It was morbidly funny, Merlin thought – he’d had better.

Charlie brought him to eye level again. Merlin had crayfish clinging to his jumper, as well as in the cuffs of his trousers. He hadn’t been bitten badly yet, but it was still rather uncomfortable.

“What, no scathing commentary on my torture skills now?” Charlie asked. “No suggestions?”

Merlin spat the filthy river water he’d been holding in his mouth square in Charlie’s face.

Charlie backhanded him; Merlin laughed.

“Come on, Charlie,” Merlin said. “Put your hips into it, with _torque_ , boy. Honestly, I got better treatment in Sri Lanka in ’87.”

Charlie pulled a knife and Merlin raised a brow at him. He advanced on Merlin, shifting it from hand to hand. A crash from the other room was muffled, but it distracted Charlie. He turned, looking at the source of the noise.

“What the fuck are they doing?” he muttered.

Merlin laughed, a harsh sound from his poor abused throat. “ _My good blade carves the casques of men, my tough lance thrusteth sure. My strength is as the strength of ten – because my heart is pure._ ”

“What the fuck are you on about?” Charlie snapped.

"Didn't read much Tennyson at Cambridge, did you, Charlie? Sir Galahad." Merlin felt the knot of tension recede in his chest. Eggsy was here, and likely with him was Roxy.

"I'm not afraid of _Eggy_ ," Charlie scoffed. “Even if he is the new Galahad.”

"No, but you should be afraid of his predecessor." Merlin smiled. “You’ve made him quite cross, boy.”

“Harry Hart’s dead. You picked a replacement. Those are the _rules_.” Charlie cuffed Merlin and shook his head. “Quit bullshitting, I know your rules.”

“ _The old order changeth, yielding place to new_.”

Charlie whirled, eyes wild. Harry stepped from the shadows, tall and somber, his face a thundercloud as he faced down Charlie. “You really should read Tennyson.”

“Fuck you,” Charlie snapped.

“That will be all, Mister Hesketh.” Harry looked at him as though dismissing a child. “You’ve caused enough trouble today.”

Charlie lunged, swinging the knife. Harry looked almost bored as he parried it with his umbrella. Merlin almost couldn’t watch it. Charlie Hesketh was a danger, but in the same way that a snake in a pen would bite you given the chance. Harry had no intention of letting him bite.

There was a visible difference between someone who’d washed out of Kingsman training and a seasoned Knight. Charlie lunged again and Harry cuffed him with the handle of his umbrella, sending him staggering.

Charlie snapped forward, swinging wild; it was like Harry flowed around him. He stepped to the side, brought down the handle of his umbrella, and hooked Charlie’s ankle. With a sharp jerk, he tugged Charlie’s feet out from under him.

Charlie Hesketh hit the ground on his stomach, winded. Harry stepped on his hand to make him drop the knife, and Charlie yelped as his finger bones popped. After a moment, he gave it up, and Harry kicked it away before binding his hands.

A swift blow to Charlie’s temple, and he went slack.

“Playing with your food?” Merlin asked, still dangling where he’d been left.

“Teaching a lesson. One must always be prepared for instruction,” Harry said. He closed the grating and lowered Merlin to the ground. “How long?”

“Since dawn,” Merlin said. “Time?”

“Half-past ten.”

“Not your worst time.” Merlin sagged in the chair as Harry cut his bindings. He groaned as he prepared to stand. Harry pushed him back into the chair and began picking crayfish from his jumper.

“Not my best, either.” Harry looked sour. “Are you all right?”

“Dogs, drowning, cracked head. I think I’ll be all right, once I can feel my feet again.” Merlin shivered and Harry pulled off his soaked jumper and shirt, wrapping him in his long wool overcoat.

“Can’t do anything about the trousers until we’ve got you back at Central,” Harry murmured. “Sorry.”

Merlin didn’t realize his teeth were chattering until Harry chafed his arms and shoulders. He looked over at Charlie’s prone form.

“What’re we to do with him?” Merlin asked.

“We could pin any number of things on him.” Harry glowered in the boy’s direction. “For now, we’ll find a place to hold him.”

“Oi,” Eggsy called. “He okay?”

“I’m fine,” Merlin called, his voice raspy. “You might want to put Charlie in the car.”

“ _Charlie?_ ” Eggsy said, moving over. “Fucking hell. He did that to you?”

“I’ve had a lot worse from better people,” Merlin said. Harry was helping him get his soaked socks and shoes off. “Roxy with you?”

“Yeah, she’s covering the room.”

“How many?” Harry asked.

“Thirty, counting the spares.” Eggsy said. “He got the whole gang together.”

“Christ,” Merlin mumbled. “They were expecting us.”

“I’ve phoned Kay and Lamorak,” Harry said. “They’ll be along to do collection and cleanup.”

Merlin nodded, feeling tired.

“Are you okay to stand?” Harry asked.

“Think so,” Merlin said. He rose, then wobbled. Harry’s firm grip on his arm was a hair too tight, and Merlin knew then that Harry had been worried sick. “Wait, the dogs.”

“At the estate,” Harry said. “They’re sleeping in Central. They’ll be pleased to see you.”

“Not those dogs,” Merlin said. “Though I’m glad. Eggsy, the cages.”

“Cages? Merlin, you’ve gotta be takin’ the fuckin’ piss,” Eggsy said. “They’ll tear us apart.”

“Do it, Galahad,” Harry said.

Merlin leaned heavily on his partner, clad in Harry’s long overcoat, soaked trousers, and barefoot, but he’d never leave animals in hands like these. When Eggsy opened the cages, Merlin gave a sharp whistle and all six dogs fell in, circling around Harry and Merlin like little soldiers. He clicked his tongue and they sat.

“Remind me never to try and get JB to nick your bacon anymore.” Eggsy’s eyes were round.

Merlin merely gave a tired smile.

“We’ll need another vehicle for Eggsy and Roxy to drive home,” Harry said, eyeing all the dogs.

“I’ll handle it,” Eggsy said.

At Merlin’s command, the dogs followed them into the main room. Merlin let out a low whistle, impressed. Unconscious men lay everywhere, their bodies put through tables and chairs, slumped against walls. Roxy stood guard, her Tokarev in hand.

“Merlin,” she said softly. “All right?”

“I’ll be fine, Lancelot,” he rumbled, and she offered him a smile before going steely-eyed and turning back to the door.

A few moments later, there was the sound of car doors slamming and Kay and Lamorak wandered in. Both shot an appraising glance at Eggsy, who shook his head.

“Not me, bruv – Lancelot’s the one who done it.”

Lamorak’s dark eyes widened, and he grinned at her. “Girl after my own heart.”

“Just because you two get to have the most fun doesn’t mean I can’t take my entertainment where I get it.” Roxy tossed her head, holstering her Tokarev. “You boys want a hand?”

“Please,” Kay said, stretching. “Should have brought the paddywagon.”

“What did you bring?” Harry asked.

“Service trucks,” Lamorak said. “It’ll be a squeeze, but we can get ‘em all in.”

Eggsy picked his way through the wreckage before he stopped. Bending down, he fished a key fob out of a pocket, smiling. Merlin noticed it was the prone Rottweiler.

“Got our spare car,” he said, quirking an eyebrow at Harry and jingling the keys. Harry merely sighed, holding Merlin upright.

“Right. Scrub this place, then take them to the local police,” Harry said. “All unconscious?”

“They are,” Roxy confirmed.

“Hold Dean and Charlie for questioning – they _are_ the ringleaders?” Harry asked Eggsy.

When he nodded, Merlin clarified. “Charlie mentioned something about paying Dean to collect me. Think they were aiming for you. But it should all be on tape at Central.”

Harry’s face darkened. “Bring them in for a word.”

“We can spin it as a direct kidnapping,” Merlin said, swaying more into Harry. Harry wrapped his arm about his waist. “For now, let’s get this cleaned up.”

“For now, let’s get you to Morgana.” Harry pulled him closer. “And let our knights do what they do best.”

“Cheers, Arthur,” called Kay. He and Lamorak were already loading the first of the men up, preparing to haul him out to the truck.

Merlin allowed Harry to lead him across the street to the car, frowning hard.

“I should carry you out, you’re injured,” Harry said, when Merlin insisted on walking.

“And throw your back out? Not a chance,” Merlin said, his voice gravelly and fond.

Harry’s smile was tight, and Merlin had a feeling that it was the wrong answer.

The dogs hopped into the back, generally happy to be out of their confined spaces and in the sun. Merlin would bath them later and get them food. For now, he sank into the passenger side, letting Harry tuck his feet in and then buckle him in.

He was just too damn tired to move.

* * *

Morgana leaned back, clicking off her light and shaking her head.

“Well, it’s no wonder you’ve got a touch of the ick,” she said. “You tried to swallow half the Thames.”

Merlin looked surly, coughing a bit as she went for the medicine locker. She tapped him out some decongestants as well as some aspirin. Bringing him a cup of water, she folded her arms and watched him swallow them with a steely gaze.

Harry sat beside him, Merlin’s left hand in his as he watched it all with an impassive gaze.

“Bed rest, one week,” Morgana said, huffing quietly. Merlin opened his mouth to give a token protest, but Morgana’s gaze sent a shiver down his back and he subsided. “Don’t over excite him.”

The last was directed at Harry, who assumed an innocent expression that fooled exactly no one in the room.

“I mean it, Harry Hart. Arthur or not if you make him sicker, I will turn you out on your ear.” Morgana looked fierce.

“Don’t worry, mum,” he said. “I won’t.”

“You’d better not.” She bustled to the door, opening it. “All right, you lot, you can come in now.”

Eleven dogs, led by Bernie, trotted in. They surrounded the bed in a large semicircle, sitting on their haunches. Morgana shook her head with a faint smile and returned to her office to give Harry and Merlin some privacy.

“Come on then,” Merlin said. Bernie was first, hopping up and draping his warm body over Merlin’s lap. The smaller dogs took up bed space, with the larger ones fanning out below the hospital bed. Merlin sighed, closing his eyes.

He knew he and Harry still needed to talk.

“I suppose you were right,” Merlin said, the words coming slow. “You are indeed fit to take on field work again.”

Harry didn’t say anything, although Merlin felt his hand being lifted. He opened his eyes to watch Harry bring Merlin’s knuckles up, pressing them gently to his lips. For a long time, Harry remained like that, to the point where Merlin considered asking if he was all right.

“Your spectacles were broken,” Harry said at length, Merlin’s hand between his own. “All we could hear was sound, and even that petered out after a while. I didn’t – couldn’t – know what had happened.”

Merlin waited, squeezing Harry’s fingers gently.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been that frightened for myself, not before or since,” he said. He looked down at Merlin’s fingers, clasped between his own. “And it occurs to me that this feeling…this is what you go through, every day. Every time I’ve gotten hurt, you’ve been right there with me, unable to do anything about it. In Kentucky…”

“Harry,” Merlin said.

Harry looked up, and Merlin could see his eyes were red rimmed. He reached up and cupped Harry’s face, his fingers tracing the edge of stubble that he’d missed in his haste. That, more than anything, told Merlin how worried Harry had been.

“I have not, nor have I ever been, helpless.” Merlin’s fingers moved to Harry’s hair and stroked the soft locks at his temple. “I do my job, and I do it well. I’ve watched good men and women die. But don’t ever think that I would keep you from doing your duty.”

“I don’t think that, not anymore,” Harry said. “It seems to me that we should reach a compromise before we attempt to have this discussion reach a satisfactory conclusion.”

“We’re agreed there,” Merlin said. “This…what we are to each other. It’s not something that’s ever happened before, or as successfully, I should say. We work as a team. It’s about time we started making decisions as one.”

Harry nodded slowly, swallowing.

“We’ll need to set ground rules,” Merlin said.

“And work on our communication,” Harry said.

Their eyes met and they smiled.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” Harry said at last. He cupped the back of Merlin’s neck and rested his forehead against Merlin’s. “Bed rest, one week.”

“I’ll talk her down to four days.”

“One week!” Morgana called from her open office.

“Yes, mum,” they called in unison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew. This one is finally done. It would have been done sooner, but there was a bit of a delay - I was babysitting for the weekend. This one also kinda got away from me. I really love this verse a lot.
> 
> ANYWAY. I'd like to introduce you to Kay and Lamorak, two of the new Knights in Harry's Roundtable. The search for knights became critical when Percy did a headcount (heh) after V-Day. Most of the old guard sided with Arthur, and didn't make it away clean when Merlin detonated the self-destruct.
> 
> Kay and Lamorak are the eldest of the Knights chosen, and they sort of fell into Harry and Merlin's lap. (If you'd like a visual, think Rupert Graves as Lamorak and Idris Elba as Kay.) I'll end up writing more about them and their adventures soon. The whole table will probably feature in a longer fic, if I'm honest.
> 
> You also win if you can pick up a couple references I tossed in there.
> 
> That said, I'd like to make a note about the use of torture in my fic. I've gotten a couple of requests that I'm really, _really_ not comfortable filling, and I'm not the only one. While I appreciate that you're thinking of me when you want someone to write that prompt, I also need to note that I write these sorts of things on my own terms. I can't just do them at the drop of a hat. They need to mean greater to the larger story around them, and I can't just write these at the drop of a hat. They are a literary device, but not a reason to write, if that makes sense.
> 
> I'm not here to write torture porn, as it were. Please understand, I try and fill every prompt I have (currently at eighteen and counting), but I'm not someone without a heart. I care very much for these characters, and even the scenes I describe require a mental and emotional state that I don't reach very often. Respectfully, I'm going to continue to delete the prompts requesting straight torture - it's really not who I am or who I'm comfortable describing. Thank you.
> 
> -Lywinis


	26. Solstice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Prompt: "One does not use fitting room 2."

**[London, March 1993]**

Merlin had to admit, there had been worse days. Walking into the tailor shop’s front slightly tipsy – with a flushed and grinning Harry Hart – seemed like a bit of a lottery win, especially when Harry wound his hand in the front of Merlin’s jumper and tugged him into fitting room two.

Each of the Kingsman’s fitting rooms served a purpose. Three held the armory and the showers, One was the elevator down. Two, however, was special.

It was the panic room.

Not in a true sense of the word, but the fitting room was a good place to disappear when needed, and Harry twitched the lamp to the side. The wall opened, leading to a small cell of a room with a largish bed and a shower – and no cameras. It was a place for Knights to recover after long journeys and shake tails without it becoming suspicious seeing them in the tailor shop.

Sometimes it had even doubled as a makeshift interrogation chamber – the walls were soundproofed against PTSD afflicted agents shouting the house down in their sleep.

Now, though, it was a place to hide and take his fill of the Knight.

Harry threw the bolt, grinning at Merlin, who was just on the side of tipsy that made this seem like a wonderful idea. The moment the door was locked, Harry pressed Merlin to the wall.

Harry had a wicked mouth on him, all sly curves when he wanted something. His lips closed on Merlin’s pulse point as he wedged a long leg between Merlin’s thighs. Merlin was already to the point of neediness, his hands sliding into Harry’s hair. Merlin’s fingers skated through sandy locks that had come undone from the pomade long ago and curled against Harry’s brow in unruly disarray.

When he tugged, Harry growled and Merlin’s cock twitched against the hard muscle of Harry’s thigh.

“ _Je t’amie_ ,” Harry said, his lips against Merlin’s neck as he helped Merlin rut against him. “ _Tu me rends fou._ ”

Merlin whined, his head falling back and Harry took the opportunity to kiss his Adam’s apple. Merlin was on fire from the inside out and it had nothing to do with the drinking they’d been doing.

It was all Harry Hart, with his long clever fingers working Merlin’s shirt from his trousers, sliding over his skin as he rucked up all of Merlin’s layers. The French spilled from that wicked mouth, and Merlin shuddered as Harry’s fingers grazed a nipple.

“ _Je bande pour toi_ ,” Harry murmured, his hands moving back down, flicking Merlin’s buckle open. Merlin ground himself against Harry’s thigh, shuddering. “ _Est-ce que tu es aussi doux que tes yeux?_ ”

Merlin groaned, his eyes closing as Harry sucked a mark against Merlin’s throat. He’d need ice for it later but for now, with Harry’s hands and mouth on him there wasn’t anything he wanted more.

“ _Je te veux tellement…_ ” Harry whispered, finally, finally dragging his lips across Merlin’s. The sensuous slide was almost too much, Merlin’s breath stuttering as Harry teased him. “ _Je t’aime._ ”

Merlin opened against the press of Harry’s mouth, sucking his tongue as he rocked against Harry. They hadn’t even made it to the bed and Harry had him wrecked, his knees wobbling as Harry poured French between his lips.

“Harry,” Merlin said. “I need—”

“I know,” Harry groaned. He was just as overwrought as Merlin was, Merlin could see it in the way that Harry’s hands shook. “Merlin—”

“Here,” Merlin said, reaching for him. Harry shuddered as Merlin’s fingers wrapped around his cock. “You’re filthy tonight, whispering at me in French.”

His voice was light but he stroked Harry hard, making the other man curse softly and bury his face in Merlin’s neck. Merlin swallowed, his nose brushing against Harry’s ear.

“You like that?”

Harry groaned, bucking against him. His hands clenched on Merlin’s hips, then went for his trouser zip. Merlin rubbed against Harry’s fingers, his lips against Harry’s skin.

“Harry—”

“Merlin.” Harry looked at him, pulling back just enough so that Merlin could see his brown eyes blown wide, his flush dusting his neck and ears. “ _On va ser coucher._ ”

Merlin groaned, knowing he’d never tell Harry no. Not when he asked like that. He kissed Harry, letting the Knight lead him to the bed, dropping him down on the mattress, his fingers in Harry’s hair.

Harry rucked his trousers down, sliding them down Merlin’s hips. His hot, wicked mouth trailed down Merlin’s belly, making the muscle jump as Harry sucked and nipped at the skin.

“ _Je te veux_ ,” Harry said, and Merlin bucked upward as Harry bit the curve of his hip bone. He cried out, leaking against his stomach. Harry ran long fingers through it and brought it to Merlin’s lips. “ _J'aime quand tu fais ça…_ ”

Merlin opened his mouth, lapping at Harry’s long fingers, tasting himself. He closed his lips around Harry’s index and middle finger, relishing the groan Harry gave when he licked them clean.

“ _Je t’aime_ ,” Harry groaned, nuzzling against Merlin’s jaw. Merlin’s hips stuttered.

“Christ, Harry,” he moaned, pulling back and kissing Harry’s palm.

“ _Ça te plaît?_ ” Harry asked, kissing his neck. Merlin squirmed and Harry helped him out of his jumper, shirt and undershirt, his tie going with it in a frenzy. Harry still wore his suit, though he was looking deliciously rumpled.

“Christ, yes.” Merlin pulled Harry in for a kiss by his tie. “What’s not to like?”

Harry let out a chuckle, nuzzling against Merlin’s jaw with the bridge of his nose. Merlin twitched, still lingering on the edge of arousal but without release.

Harry’s fingers slid down his chest, and Merlin knew he was a mess. This wasn’t the plan, lying on the panic room’s bed with his trousers around his knees and his shirt off, Harry kneeling next to him looking rumpled but with his tie barely loosened. Though when Harry kissed him like he was drowning, he hardly had room to complain.

Merlin bucked when Harry licked his palm and reached for him, his fingers wrapping around him and stroking. Merlin whined, his toes curling as Harry sucked his tongue. When Harry pulled back, he attacked Merlin’s neck again, mouthing at Merlin’s pulse. Blood rushed in Merlin’s ears, the drag of Harry’s trigger callouses enough to drive him quite mad.

“Harry, I’m going to—”

“ _Où veux tu finir, dans ma bouche?_ ” Harry whispered, hoarse. “ _Toi ventre?_ ”

Harry kissed his neck, then nipped his shoulder hard. Merlin gasped and jerked, spilling over Harry’s fingers and his own stomach.

“Christ, _Harry._ ” Merlin clenched his hand in the sheets, his palm over his eyes as the world went white. The bed sagged next to him as Harry flopped onto his side, curled close against Merlin’s cooling flank as the Knight nuzzled his shoulder.

Merlin was a mess, his whole body loose and pliant. He peeked through his fingers at Harry. The other man was watching him, as though he were precious – something he’d been intending to savor. It was, in fact, just a little thrilling.

Frightening.

It had been building since Barcelona, this pressure, this feeling. Although Harry’s touch made it ignite, while he was gone Merlin knew he would burn no less brightly for the lack of contact.

They were lost in each other’s gravity, Merlin no less than Harry.

Merlin felt his chest constrict, watching Harry study him as though he were committing Merlin’s body to memory. His mouth dried out, and he almost didn’t say a word. He’d be content with letting Harry have this calm while he himself was a maelstrom inside.

He licked his lips and tried again.

“It’s rude to stare.”

Harry’s wicked mouth turned up in a smile, and that was the point that Merlin gave up pretending for good. His fingers moved to Harry’s hair, and the other man leaned into him like a cat.

“Is it now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh. If you haven't noticed, Harry's got a bit of a dirty mouth where Merlin's concerned.
> 
> You probably caught the aftermath of this in Scrivenbear's half. If not, you should bounce and read Chapter Eight of [Home Is Wherever I'm With You](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3830767/chapters/8962117).
> 
> ***
> 
> Translation time!
> 
> Fun fact, I speak no French at all save for omelette du fromage - so these are pulled from various French slang sources. Apologies if I butchered any of it.
> 
> Je t’amie: "My love." 
> 
> Tu me rends fou: "You drive me crazy."
> 
> Je bande pour toi: "I'm so hard for you."
> 
> Est-ce que tu es aussi doux que tes yeux: "Do you taste as sweet as you look?"
> 
> Je te veux tellement: "I want you so much..."
> 
> On va ser coucher: "Let's go to bed."
> 
> Je te veux: "I want you."
> 
> J'aime quand tu fais ça: "I like it when you do that..."
> 
> Ça te plaît: "Do you like it?"
> 
> Où veux tu finir, dans ma bouche? Toi ventre?: "Where do you want to finish, in my mouth? Your stomach?"


	27. Cœur Fidèle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt: "I wish you would write a fic where..." Eggsy and Roxy argue over whether Harry or Merlin would be the 'mom' in their little family.

Harry blinked as he stepped into his office. “Can I help you, Eggsy?”

Eggsy startled, his hands clutching something to his chest and tucking it into his jacket before he turned around. “Thought you was gone for the day.”

“Hm. Not all of the day. It still doesn’t explain your presence in my office,” Harry said.

“I, uh, look it’s stupid an’–” Eggsy paused. “Who’s this?”

He’d noticed an antique silver frame, one that held a faded photograph. Harry ignored that Eggsy hadn’t answered his question, instead picking up the frame.

“My mentor,” he said. “The late Thomas Brampton. He was the man who sponsored me into Kingsman.”

“Izzat you and Merlin with him there?” Eggsy asked.

“It is,” Harry said.

“Merlin had hair.” He sounded a little shocked.

“Merlin had hair for most of his life,” Harry said lightly. “You lot made him pull it out.”

“So who’s Thomas?”

“He was Lancelot,” Harry said, hanging up his coat and taking a seat behind his desk. “If you like, I’ll tell you about him.”

“Can I sit, then?” Eggsy asked.

Harry smiled. “You’re learning.”

* * *

**[Oxford University, May 1980]**

“That will be all for the evening, recruits,” Group Captain Tully said as he dismissed them. “Hart, stay behind for just a moment, if you would.”

Harry straightened. He waited while the others fanned out, chatting quietly as they returned to their dorms.

“There’s someone I wanted you to meet,” Tully said. The man who’d been sitting in on their meetings for the last couple of days rose from his chair, a pensive look on his face. “This is Lord Thomas Brampton. Lord Brampton, meet Officer Cadet Harry Hart.”

“Sir,” Harry said, offering a straight back and a shake of Lord Brampton’s hand.

He had a firm grip, and eyes that were the washed out blue of old denim. Soft brown hair curled at the nape of his neck, and he wore an impeccable suit that looked tailored to fit him.

“Lord Brampton is my father,” he said, giving Harry’s hand a press before releasing him. “Thomas will do nicely.”

Though smaller than Harry’s six-two frame, Thomas Brampton carried himself with an assurance that Harry almost envied. He pulled a pipe from his pocket and began packing it with loose tobacco as he spoke.

“Tully here tells me that you’re finishing up an undergraduate degree in the law course,” Thomas said. “That’s admirable.”

“Sir,” Harry said with a nod. “I’ve nearly finished my final year.”

“Good lad,” Thomas said. He struck a match and lit his pipe, regarding Harry with those faded blue eyes as he puffed a coal into his tobacco. “Have you plans for after you’ve finished your degree?”

Harry nodded. “I was going to join the RAF. Group Captain Tully has said he’d provide me excellent references for my commission.”

“And he would,” Thomas said. Tully nodded, his hands behind his back, watching Harry with a gimlet gaze. “He tells me you’re one of the best and brightest.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Thomas cast a glance at Tully. “D’you mind if I borrowed your recruit for a while?”

“Not at all,” Tully said. “They’ve been dismissed. Though I expect him bright and early before his graduation ceremony’s dress rehearsal tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, saluting sharply.

“Walk with me, Harry,” Thomas said. Harry glanced at Tully, but as he’d been dismissed, his Group Captain was collecting his papers to head home. It was still early in the evening, and Harry fell into step beside Thomas, shortening the stride in his long legs.

Thomas puffed on his pipe as they left the halls, the students’ chatter muted as they went about heading for study as well as the evening meal. Harry kept time with Thomas, the man walking with a silver tipped cane.

“Would you like a pint?” Thomas asked.

“I—yes, sir,” Harry said. “Can I ask what all this is about?”

“Well, I’ve been corresponding with Andrew for quite some time now,” Thomas said. It took Harry a moment to realize Thomas meant Tully. “I’ve asked him to keep an eye out for recruits with potential.”

“Potential, sir?”

“Yes,” Thomas said, blowing a cloud of heavy, fragrant smoke above his head. “You see, there’s something that I’m looking for, and I’m not sure I’ve found it yet.”

When he didn’t elaborate, Harry walked in silence with him. The air was cool, not quite the heat wave that had been this week’s weather. He was grateful for it, the heat making him sweat and itch beneath the wool of his uniform. Harry wasn’t made for the heat – he’d much rather have the snow.

“Your parents, Lord and Lady Hart, correct?” Harry nodded at the question. “And you’ve two older brothers?”

“Sir,” he said. “Malcolm and Jonathan.”

“Mm,” Thomas said. “It must be hard being the third son.”

“It’s all right,” Harry replied. “I may not be the first, but that doesn’t matter.”

His tone, he feared, said that it mattered quite a bit. Thomas gave him a knowing look and opened the door to The Rickety Press. The pub was quite good; Harry had been a few times with classmates, but had tried not to make a habit of it – schoolwork had been important.

Harry found them a table while Thomas collected two pints. He came back bearing two brimming glasses of dark brown stout.

“Guinness?” Thomas asked, setting the brew down in front of him.

Harry smiled, a little taken aback. “You knew.”

“I know a little,” Thomas clarified. “I was hoping to know a bit more.”

* * *

Roxy tilted her head at Eggsy. “Why not give them both today, if you’re set on doing it?”

“Well, you can’t just…Rox, one’s mum and one’s dad.” Eggsy blinked at her in astonishment.

“Eggsy, are you seriously suggesting your mentors are conforming to traditional gender roles? I’m a little disappointed you’re so narrow minded.” Roxy folded her arms, and Eggsy felt a rush of shame. “Look, give them both, and save Mother’s Day for your mum.”

“Oh,” he said. “Well, I mean…”

“I think they’ll be tickled regardless,” she said. “I doubt anyone’s ever done it for them before.”

“You getting Martin something?” he asked.

“Already done, though I should be off,” she said. “We’re due at the cemetery soon.”

Eggsy nodded, somber. “You, uh, want me to come along?”

She shook her head. “Family time.”

He nodded and pulled her into a hug; an impulse. She laid her head on his shoulder for just a moment, squeezing him tight, and then she was off, wiping at her eyes with one hand.

* * *

**[Oxford University, May 1980]**

Harry was a little tipsy. He loped along beside Thomas’s easy stride, much like a puppy with its owner. Thomas seemed none the worse for wear with three pints in him, and Harry had to focus to keep in time.

“I must say, I’ve enjoyed the pleasure of your company tonight, Harry.” Thomas smiled, walking with his cane. Harry grinned, pleased.

“Thank you, sir.” He wobbled on an uneven patch of road. “You never did tell me exactly why you’ve taken me out.”

“Well, Harry, I was hoping to test you a little bit, to find out what kind of man you are. I must say, you’re a hell of a billiards player.”

Harry chuckled. “Well, I—”

His sentence was cut off when he bumped into someone’s chest. He blinked up owlishly at the man, noticing a nasty, twisting scar running down his face. It bisected the man’s eyebrow, tracing the side of his face to near his jaw. It was frightening, and in the shadows it made it seem more menacing than it was.

“Let’s have your wallets then,” said the man, a good three stone heavier than Harry and about six inches taller.

“Sir, I really must protest,” Thomas said.

“Shut it, gramps. We’ll leave you and yer rent boy alone in a minnit. Hand over them wallets now.”

Harry puffed like a bantam rooster.

“See here,” he said. “You—”

The man backhanded him. Harry realized there were two more watching from the shadows. He stumbled, feigning a lean on the wall. When one of the others reached for him, he grabbed their arm, twisting it into a painful armlock behind his back. The man was smaller than his counterpart, which provided Harry with leverage.

“Nobody move,” Harry growled. “Back off.”

He twisted higher, and the thug in his grip rose up on his toes, whining.

The scarred man chuckled, pulling a knife. “Lookit, boys, ‘e thinks ‘e’s a toughy. This one’s got bollocks.”

Harry glanced at Thomas and noticed he was hanging back. Good. Harry called to him, cutting his eyes back to the scarred man.

“Sir, you should go. I’ll handle this.”

“You stay right the fuck there, geezer, or I’ll do you first,” growled the scarred man.

Harry kicked his captive in the larger man’s direction, using the momentary panic to slug him in the jaw. The third thug broke and ran, his footsteps echoing on the concrete until he was out of sight.

The scarred man tossed his compatriot to the side and Harry raised his fists, settling into a boxing stance. The second thug fled, leaving Harry with only the largest to deal with.

The knife tip wavered between himself and Thomas.

“You’re going to want to put that down,” Harry said, his voice low and authoritative. “Don’t do this.”

* * *

“…and so I chased off the thug by talking him down.” Harry said, taking a sip from his glass. “Eventually he believed us not worth it, because we resisted him instead of handing over our valuables like he intended.”

“That was a lot different from how you recruited me,” Eggsy said, rolling the glass between his palms.

Harry smiled.

“Not too much different, actually. There was a larger level of…preparation Thomas needed to take when he was observing me.”

“So he’d been watchin’ you?” Eggsy asked.

“Typically a candidate is chosen and held in reserve for up to two years in advance,” Harry replied. “It can be a ‘just in case’ decision to sponsor a young man – or more recently, woman – and never actually extend the invitation to them.”

Eggsy took a sip of his drink. “Well, you didn’t have a cock of a stepdad to make your choices for you.”

Harry’s lips lifted in a small smile. “In truth, I don’t know how long Thomas watched me. But my own father was distant, as he was with all his children. So for my mentor to take a vested interest in my growth and development…”

In a way, he and Eggsy were a lot alike at that age.

“So what happened, then?” Eggsy asked.

“Well, as you can guess, I was selected for Kingsman training when the current Galahad passed away.”

* * *

**[Kingsman UK HQ, August 1980]**

“Does anyone know what these are?” Merlin asked.

He was a bent old man, with a stiff, creaky voice. Clad in a plaid shirt with a blue sweater vest, he stood a head shorter than all the others in the room. His hair was white with age, but his trousers were pressed, his bowtie a slash of black on the check of his shirt.

Though he was small, Merlin somehow held sway over the twelve young men who stood in the barracks. All of them stood at attention, hands clasped behind them.

Harry raised his hand.

“Yes, you, the moppet in the back.”

“Body bag, sir.”

“Very good.” Keen grey eyes looked him over. “Hart, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well done. Now. You will each select a body bag. You will write your name and next of kin on that bag. This signals that you agree to the binding contract and the nondisclosure of Kingsman protocols. If you do not abide by those protocols, you can expect yourself – and your next of kin – in that bag.”

Harry swallowed.

“Am I understood?” Merlin asked.

“Sir!” Twelve voices chorused.

“Good.” Merlin gave them all a sharp look. “Fall out.”

Each of the young men moved to collect a cot, and Harry looked over his body bag with some trepidation. What had Thomas gotten him into? Still, he pulled his fountain pen from his pocket and wrote down his details, noting the symbol at the top – an inverted K. It was simple, elegant, and it filled Harry with a thrill he couldn’t quite place.

* * *

“So they did that even back then?” Eggsy asked. Harry looked up from where he was pouring them both a drink.

“Yes,” he said, handing Eggsy his glass. Harry sipped at the water, knowing it was far too early for alcohol. He returned to his seat behind the desk. “It was a tradition to impress the recruits with the seriousness of their application for Kingsman.”

“Did anyone ever talk?” Eggsy asked.

“We had our share of Charlies,” Harry replied, thinking of the fox-faced boy. “But we nipped it in the bud quickly.”

Eggsy took a long swallow of his water, considering that. “Did you…”

“Blackmail,” Harry replied. “All of them had dirty little secrets – an aunt that gambled, a parent that had a mistress or lover. It’s not hard to garner information from a barracks full of recruits.”

He smiled, watching Eggsy realize what he meant.

“You mean—”

“You were bugged from the day you started till the day you took the mantle of Galahad,” Harry replied, cocking an eyebrow at Eggsy.

“Fuck me.”

“That was also what you were signing off on. If you’d flipped over the card on the body bag, you could have read the fine print.” Harry’s smile might have been a touch predatory.

* * *

**[Kingsman UK HQ, January 1981]**

Harry bumped into the giant in the hallway.

“Excuse me,” Harry said, glancing up – and realizing who it was. “ _You_.”

It was hard to tell without the scar, but there was no mistaking the man’s gait. He’d just run across his attacker in the alley.

“Sorry about tha’, mate,” he said. “Didn’t see you there.”

Harry opened his mouth, but the man just gave him a wink and sauntered into Arthur’s office.

* * *

“You mean he—”

“Yes,” Harry said. “A Kingsman has many ways of testing his Potential. That was just one of them. Others did worse – and better.”

“Christ.”

“Indeed,” Harry said before drinking down his water. “But Thomas had a reason for it. He wanted to test my mettle, as I did yours.”

“Still, that’s just…” Eggsy rolled the glass between his palms. “Seems excessive, dunnit?”

“At times.” Harry poured more water from himself, parched from talking. “But he also set me on a path that defined who I was as a man. I’m grateful to him.”

Eggsy nodded, his attention rapt on Harry.

“My training wasn’t near as long as yours – the prospects that year, as I remember them, washed out early. Soon, it was just me and another lad, name of Graham…”

* * *

**[Kingsman UK HQ, December 1981]**

Harry tapped on the oak door. Thomas called him to enter.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” he asked. Mr. Pickle stood at his heel, sitting when Harry stopped.

“Sit down, boy,” Thomas said. Harry couldn’t place his look; for a moment, he wondered if he was in for a lecture, though he couldn’t for the life of him think of any reason why he would warrant one.

Harry sat.

“You’ve done well on all your examinations,” Thomas said. “Your test scores were the highest of your group. You’ve excelled against all my expectations, Harry.”

“Thank you, sir,” he said. Thomas’s faded denim gaze slid to Mr. Pickle, who sat pretty, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. Harry had bought him a plaid vest so he’d stick out amongst all of Harry’s neutral-colored bedsheets in the barracks.

 “Lovely dog,” Thomas said. “You’ve trained him well.”

Harry nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

“Did you find him difficult?”

“Not as such, sir. He’s been a joy to have around,” Harry answered.

Now, the little dog was seated quietly, the only noise a soft one as he washed his nose before resuming his quiet vigil. Harry swelled with pride; it had been work to train the little beast, but now he was worth his weight.

Thomas reached into his jacket and withdrew a Browning. He clicked off the safety, checked the load, and then passed the gun, butt first, to Harry. Harry, unsure where this was going, took it with a quizzical expression. He realized that this was the pistol he’d used in his training exercises – he’d notched the handle accidentally when the slide had pinched him. The weathered grip fit in his hand like an old friend.

“Shoot the dog,” Thomas said, without turning a hair.

Harry’s eyes widened, and he cast his gaze to Mr. Pickle. It was then that he realized that there was plastic on the carpet beneath their chairs. He swallowed, the gun in his hand shaking slightly.

“Why?” he asked.

“You don’t question orders in the field, boy,” Thomas snapped. “Shoot the dog.”

Mr. Pickle looked up at him, licking his nose. Harry leveled the pistol at the tiny pup, his hand giving the barest shake to throw off his aim. He felt ill, the time seeming to slow to the sound of his heartbeats, his breathing coming in a shallow rasp in his chest.

He could leave.

He could join the RAF, he could become an officer and draw upon a nice salary with work. But could he leave all this? The training, it was everything he’d ever wanted it to be. He was young, his hunger to be _more_ than his brothers were nigh overwhelming. He could be someone, something more. He could transform.

Thomas waited in silence, his hands laced together as he watched. Harry looked down at Mr. Pickle, his hand steadying.

 _Forgive me_.

Harry fired.

* * *

“You shot a _**dog**_ , to get a _**job**_ ,” Eggsy said, echoing his words from before. Harry nodded solemnly.

“I don’t make excuses for my actions back then,” he said. “But we believed it to be an excellent way to judge an agent’s mettle. If a Knight cannot follow orders – well, it was seen as a liability. I will admit, I was a thorn in many a side when I was younger. Even as I aged and became slightly more moderate in my thinking, I’m sure that Chester loathed whenever I would make a conclusion about something being unfair.”

“So you mean…”

“Your father being recruited was a slap in the face for Chester,” he said, nodding. “But that’s not to say it started there.”

* * *

**[Kingsman UK HQ, 1982]**

Harry hit the mat with the dull thud of a body that had been flung. He had too – that last throw from Thomas landed him square on his back. The air was pushed out of him, and he lay, stunned, for a solid minute attempting to get his breath back.

“Get up, boy,” Thomas said. He stood, barefoot in a loose pair of sweats, a long t-shirt hiding what had to be muscle. Eyes the color of old denim regarded him with a look of disdain.

Harry rolled to his feet, his own loose sweats hanging off his hips. His chest was bare, preferring to show off for whomever might be watching. Thomas had no such compunctions, and they squared off again.

“Now,” Thomas said. “Hit me like you mean it.”

Harry raised his fists, taking a hefty swing at Thomas. Thomas moved with surprising agility, walking inside the blow as though Harry were moving in slow motion. He clapped his hands over Harry’s ears, making them ring and sending Harry staggering.

Two brutal rabbit punches to his ribs and he was coughing, disoriented and in pain.

Harry dropped to a knee, looking up.

“Get up, boy.”

Harry did, swaying on his feet. He glanced over, noticing the new recruit in the doorway, watching. Scottish, fresh from the streets of Glasgow, to hear him talk – and Harry had heard precious little of it. Harry straightened a little, swinging his gaze around – and Thomas promptly tossed him to the mat again with a hip throw.

“I’m your opponent, Galahad,” Thomas said. “Eyes on me. None of the rest of it matters in a fair fight.”

Harry swept at Thomas’s legs, sending the older man back as he rolled to his feet.

“Again,” Harry said, rolling out his shoulders.

“This time, you’ve got to **_hit_** me, boy.”

With the recruit watching, Harry was much more – and at the same time, less – focused. How could he concentrate with those eyes boring into his back?

In the end, Lancelot helped him to his feet, giving him more pointers.

“—and start that Krav Maga training. The instructors are salivating over the prospect of someone with your muscle mass,” Thomas said. Harry nodded, knowing he’d be sore for months.

He rubbed his neck when he noticed the new recruit still watching, something unreadable in his eyes. Thomas had stepped to the showers, and while Harry was going to follow…

Harry found himself padding across the mats toward the young man.

“At ease,” Harry said when the recruit snapped a salute.

The recruit nodded, sagging into a parade rest, clasping his wrists behind his back. “Sir.”

“Enjoy the show, then?” Harry asked. He was inordinately pleased when the young man let his eyes drift across Harry’s bare chest before seeming to remember himself and snapping them back to Harry’s face.

It did the ego good.

“Sir, I was just…”

Harry quirked an eyebrow.

“I was here for a session with the bag, sir. But as I see the gym’s been reserved…” The recruit shrugged. Harry had the feeling it was a bit of an excuse – considering he and Thomas had been training in the gym for the last week at around the same time each day.

“It’s all right, recruit. Back to your lessons. You’ve more NLP training this afternoon. The towel behind you, if you would.”

When the recruit reached for it, Harry studied his profile. Angles and edges, hinting at a much stronger face when he was a little older, Harry decided he liked the look of this one. Shame Harry had a personal moral standpoint against dabbling.

This young man would look excellent against the Egyptian cotton of his sheets.

Harry took the towel and daubed at the sweat on his chest. The recruit blanched, then went a spectacular shade of pink, all the way to the high widow’s peak he sported. Pleased, Harry clapped him on the shoulder.

“Off you hop, now. Go prep for your lessons.”

The recruit sketched another saluted and disappeared through the double doors of the gymnasium. Harry padded into the showers, surprisingly upbeat despite being soundly thrashed in hand to hand combat.

* * *

“You trained Merlin?” Eggsy asked.

“I did.” Harry took a long swallow of his water. “The first time I met him, he was Arthur’s recruit.”

“You’re taking the piss,” Eggsy said. “I thought Merlin was—”

“Merlin’s not much different from you,” Harry said softly, cutting Eggsy off carefully. “But that wasn’t the end of things.”

* * *

**[Kingsman UK HQ, 1985]**

A collection of photographs tumbled onto Harry’s desk, and he looked up in askance as Thomas stood in front of him, his arms folded.

“You’ll need to explain these,” he said.

“Explain them? That was the rugby match over the Easter holiday,” Harry said. “I don’t know that I need to explain anything.”

“You’ve given yourselves away,” Thomas said, tapping the photos. “Look again.”

Harry bent to study the photos. In them, Harry and Merlin were depicted, arms slung over one another’s shoulders and laughing. They were caked with mud, but the matching jerseys denoted the same team. Their team had won, and they were bruised and bloody but quite pleased with themselves.

“We’d won, I don’t think that’s anything to be concerned about, Thomas.” Harry’s brows knit. “Surely you’re reading too much into this.”

“Harry, I think that you should consider who you’re talking to, and then observe again. I can tell you that your little tryst in Barcelona won’t go unnoticed for long if you keep it up.”

Harry froze, long fingers splayed out over the photos. His gaze rose to Thomas.

“It’s there, if one knows where to look. I can tell you’ve a fancy for our new tech wizard. I’m not saying everyone else is noticing, but dammit Harry…” Thomas unfolded his arms and slid most of the photographs to one side. “He looks at you like you’re the world on a biscuit, and that’s going to bite you both.”

Harry caught his breath. Merlin was staring at him. Harry’s head was turned away, but Merlin’s eyes held a look of longing that was so painful it was almost a punch in the chest. He felt the air leave him, and he sagged back, looking at the photos.

“Who else knows?”

“Morgana,” he said. “I’ll have a word with Merlin about it as well, but for now, you should learn to school your expressions better.”

“You’re not…”

“No,” Thomas said. “If I’m honest, you two are the biggest slap in the face Chester’s ever gotten, and I’d like to keep it that way. Learn to school yourself in front of Arthur, boy. It could mean both your jobs.”

Harry nodded, swallowing. “Can I…keep this one?”

Thomas made a face, but he nodded. “Somewhere safe, where it won’t be seen.”

Harry looked up. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said. “See that you’re more careful.”

* * *

“D’you still have that picture?” Eggsy asked. Harry flipped another frame around, this one smaller. Eggsy’s eyes widened. “He was gone on you.”

“We both were,” Harry said softly, his thumb stroking the edge of the frame. “Merlin and I have been colleagues for more than thirty years.”

“You mean…”

Harry nodded, turning the frame back around to look at the photograph. His smile was soft and fond, his eyes losing that hard edge they often carried when Harry was on official business.

“Merlin is my colleague, and my friend. But he and I have always been more to each other, even when we’re apart,” he said softly. “We’re a team. It wasn’t so easy back then. I made a lot of mistakes. I’m hoping Merlin thinks it was worth it.”

“He does,” Eggsy said with a staunch tone. “You shoulda seen him when we got the news you was at the hospital in Kentucky. He hung up the phone an’ blubbered for a good ten minutes.”

Harry smiled. “Did he, now?”

“Oh, yeah,” Eggsy said, standing and stretching. “Oh. I was gonna give you this.”

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a card. Harry took it, quizzical. It was Father’s Day, of course, but Harry turned the card over in his hands.

“You don’t…have to keep it, or anythin’ like that,” Eggsy said. Harry’s silence had made him uneasy, and he shifted from foot to foot.

“Do you know where I went today?” Harry asked.

Eggsy shook his head.

“I went to visit Thomas at the cemetery,” Harry said. “He passed in 1996, just before Christmas. It was natural causes, and I think that made Thomas the smuggest of all – Chester never did get even with him.”

Harry rose and moved around the desk, resting a hand on Eggsy’s shoulder.

“Thomas Brampton was my mentor, and my friend,” he said, his voice soft. Eggsy looked up and met his eyes. “What he did for me, I tried to do for you. In a lot of ways, I’ve succeeded and you’ve exceeded my expectations in yet other ways. Your capacity for caring does you credit, and I’ve never been prouder of a candidate than I am of you. I only wish I might’ve told Thomas the same before he passed.”

Eggsy’s gaze slid off and to the left. He was embarrassed, but Harry pulled him into a brief hug that was returned with the kind of hungry fierceness only Eggsy could embody. Harry clapped him on the back, and they broke apart.

“I got one for Merlin, too, is he in?”

“You might want to save that one for mother’s day,” Harry murmured with a smile. Eggsy grinned, and they both went to seek out the wizard together.

* * *

Roxy and Martin strolled through the cemetery together. The day was cloudless, pretty and warm. Birds sang, and the cemetery stones didn’t seem so much like they huddled as when they’d lowered James Spencer’s empty casket into the ground.

She glanced at Martin, her fellow Knight. Percival, they called him, stoic and quiet; Roxy knew that he was quiet because he listened. She also knew that he cried at French films and liked his tea with honey instead of sugar. She took his arm and he smiled down at her.

To Roxy, he was just her Uncle Martin, James’s partner for nearly two decades. Roxy’s mother, Judith Morton, nee Spencer, was James’s twin. Her mother and her uncle had been so close that Roxy had grown up in James and Martin’s company, much to the displeasure of her father.

When James had passed, Martin had looked to her for both comfort and succession. No one else, he felt, was fit to fill Lancelot’s shoes. He’d been right; despite her fears and her misgivings, the new Lancelot had stepped into place. Mourning had come after, in the plane home. Eggsy had held her as she’d cried. She’d been quiet about it, with Martin flying them back to UK HQ while Merlin slept under sedation so he wouldn’t reopen Percival’s careful stitches.

Their hearts were heavy, but after a year and a half since V-Day, it seemed that the memories were fading to the dullest of aches. There was a disconnect, a sense of incompleteness that they couldn’t describe; without a body, James hadn’t really passed. Kingsman had never been able to recover him. With the chaos from V-Day, there had been at least a partial culling. There was a significant drop in the population, one that people were still coming to grips about.

Three years total – in the whirl of the panic Valentine had caused, it seemed so long ago. Roxy was also quickly learning that her time in Kingsman wasn’t marked by the passing of seasons but rather by the distance of tragedy.

Roxy held the wreath in her other hand. It was a small one this time, carnations in deep red and white scattered with tiny forget-me-nots and baby’s breath in a circle. Martin had chosen it, and they’d promised each other they’d make this trip together. Now, they stopped in front of the modest marble headstone.

_James Spencer_

_1970 – 2015_

_If there is another world, he lives in bliss._

_If not another, he made the most of this._

Roxy squatted, arranging the wreath just so. Martin stood, his head bowed and his lips pursed, as though being here pained him. In some ways, she was sure it did. She rose, taking Martin’s arm and leaning her head against his shoulder. For a long, long time, they stood, each lost in their own thoughts.

The summer wind teased her hair loose from its careful coiffure, sending blonde strands wafting about her face. She reached up and tucked them behind her ears. Martin cleared his throat and glanced at her.

“Thank you for coming with me, Roxanne,” he said.

His voice was smooth and quiet, and the use of her full name made her feel like she was eight years old again and dressed in a pinafore. She didn’t mind, however – Uncle Martin’s voice was thick with grief and she took a tighter hold on his arm.

“Of course,” she said. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“I know,” he said, smiling at her. “Do you think he’d be upset I chose you?”

“Furious,” she said, smiling back. “He’d be angry you thought to replace him at all.”

She leaned her head back on his shoulder, the call of songbirds lulling her into enjoying the day despite her grief. The cemetery was on the south edge of the Kingsman property; Knights were buried here when they had no close next of kin or selected plots. Even when they did, there was still a headstone for them, to honor the accomplishments they couldn’t be lauded for in public.

It was smaller than Roxy had expected. A pleasant surprise, at least.

“You know, I remember stipulating in my will that I was to go with a good old-fashioned Irish wake,” came a voice.

Roxy startled, and she felt Martin stiffen beside her. They turned, both of them taking in the sight of James, his suit just as loud but unable to draw the eye from his smiling face. He leaned heavily on a cane, his knuckles white as he regarded the both of them.

“Uncle James?” she whispered, but it was Percival who drowned her out.

“ _You son of a **bitch**_ ,” he roared, launching himself at the previous Lancelot.

Roxy moved, but she was still no match in speed for her uncle. She was left watching as he barreled into James, taking them both to the grass of the lawn in an ungainly sprawl.

She moved to break it up, but she needn’t have worried.

Instead of messy fisticuffs, Martin devoured James’s mouth with his own, one hand in his hair and the other twisted in his suit coat as though to keep James from getting away again. Roxy looked away, feeling her cheeks flush.

She coughed, once, and her uncles seemed to come to their senses.

“Roxy, my girl,” James said, breathless. He looked pleased, if in a little pain from Martin’s enthusiastic welcome. Martin contented himself with pressing his ear to James’s chest. “How are you?”

“It’s Lancelot now, Uncle,” she said, smirking at him. His brows rose, and he turned an incredulous glance on Martin. She could already see the argument forming, but Martin interrupted with another sweet kiss.

“We should talk about this inside,” Martin said, pulling away. “Arthur and Merlin will want to see you.”

“Of that, I have no doubt,” he said, sprawled beneath Martin like it was the most natural thing in the world. “But…we could stay here a little longer.”

“We could,” Roxy agreed, settling on the grass beside her uncles.

Across from them was the headstone of the previous Lancelot. Harry had been here already today, she saw. A wreath of gardenias lay against the marble, coupled with a bottle of excellent brandy.

_Lord Thomas Brampton_

_1921 – 1996_

_When you are sorrowful, look again._

James tugged her down and they looked up at the puffed summer clouds that floated like clumsy sheep over the cemetery. If they looked a little blurry, well, that was hardly her fault, was it?

It wasn’t often she got gifts on Father’s Day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> James, you _ass_.
> 
> That said, meet Thomas Brampton, the previous Lancelot and Harry's mentor. You'll likely see more of him in flashbacks. For a great visual I suggest referencing to Sir Anthony Hopkins, mostly because [I have reasons for this](https://hugoftheday.files.wordpress.com/2011/08/colin-firth-anthony-hopkins.jpg). [Several reasons.](http://www.colinfirth.info/theatre/theatre-road/lonlrd09.jpg)
> 
> Thomas and Chester clashed. Quite a bit. Thomas was, for most of his life, considered the illegitimate son of the late Gregory Brampton. He was proposed into Kingsman and Chester did his damnedest to keep him out. Thomas went on to become one of the most decorated Knights of his career and it drove Chester insane. Right before Thomas's father died, he conferred the lands and titles to Thomas, with the provision he care for his sisters and provide for them. The new Lord Brampton almost took Arthur's seat, but was downvoted at the last moment. Their rivalry turned bitter and even acerbic in several places - not the least of which was Merlin and Harry's relationship.
> 
> But then, I'm getting ahead of myself here, aren't I? C:
> 
> The title is the Hart family motto: "A Faithful Heart"
> 
> I'm sorry these are taking longer. I've not been feeling well. I do hope you enjoy, however!

**Author's Note:**

> You guys have no idea how intimidating it is to write for this fandom. 
> 
> Hi. 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Uh, I'm Lywinis and I write Merlahad. I also have a Captain America problem. Expect crossovers. And lots of AUs. I hope you enjoy these, and consider leaving a comment. I love feedback.
> 
> I also take prompts! You can hit me up [here](http://lywinis.tumblr.com/ask). (Anonymous is usually turned on, so feel free to prompt even if you don't have a tumblr yourself!) Those will show up here eventually.


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